


Fruitcake and Bananas

by Dresupi



Series: WinterShock [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Awesome Darcy Lewis, BAMF Darcy Lewis, Birds, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Evil Plans, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Kissing, Making Out, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Suspension Of Disbelief, Tropes, WinterShock - Freeform, Witness Protection, Work In Progress, did I mention slow burn, the slowest and burniest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2018-09-23 23:21:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9686717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/pseuds/Dresupi
Summary: She needs a fake husband for reasons.   He needs a fake wife for different reasons.It's your basic will-they, won't-they, fake marriage type of situation.And there's a cat, who is decidedly not fake.  And neighbors, who decidedly are.But don't worry, there's plenty of cake for everyone.





	1. help me out said the minnow to the trout

**Author's Note:**

  * For [usedkarma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/usedkarma/gifts).



> This is all based on a [prompt](http://fuckyeahdarcylewis.tumblr.com/post/157068291192/usedkarma-darcyland-prompt-idea-darcy-is) from the lovely usedkarma: 
> 
>  
> 
> _"Darcy is contacted by a magazine about her super popular lifestyle blog (fantastic house, fantastic hubby/wife, labradoodle and great child), only problem, it’s totally fake. SO she needs all of these ASAP. Cue fake relationship trope goodness on steroids."_
> 
>  
> 
> I made a couple of changes, which I hope will be well received. ;) (Bowie the gray tabby cat as opposed to a labradoodle, and kids are endgame, but not gonna feature heavily in the story simply due to the nature of it...I hope that's cool. ;) ) I had half of a story idea, but I needed the extra oomph to make it really good and this lovely open prompt from usedkarma worked WONDERS for my muse. I hope she (and everyone else) like it! :D

“Oh my god, this is a nightmare…” Darcy muttered under her breath.  She covered her eyes and took a deep breath, silently trying to will the words off the screen in front of her.  “No, no, no…this cannot be happening…”  

She uncovered her eyes, scanning the email again.  “Oh fuck me sideways…” 

She reached for her phone.  Before she did  _ anything _ she needed to talk to Jane.  

She fired off a quick text: “ _ The worst has happened.  Call me ASAP.”   _

She signed off her computer, opting for taking her break early rather than sit there and freak out at her desk and run the risk of her supervisor seeing her not working.  Well, technically  _ Darcy _ was the supervisor.  But sometimes the supervisor of the supervisors (or the super-supervisor, if you’d rather) came down to walk amongst the peons and she didn’t want to look like she was having a small conniption/quarter-life crisis at her desk instead of supervising the lower level twerps like she was supposed to.  

She walked past the break room and went down the hall to the bathroom instead.  Fifteen minutes of deep breathing in a bathroom stall looked like a very smart way to spend her first morning break.  She just had to get herself calmed down enough to explain the problem to Jane when she decided to call her later that evening.  Because no matter their past or how close they were now, Darcy just wasn’t more important than science.  

She pushed the thought from her head. It wasn’t helpful.  

Jane was a great friend.  She was just really into her work.  

Jane had done everything she could for her and Darcy was hella appreciative.  Not many people could find work for a twenty-six year old college dropout with too many credits and not enough degrees to match up.  Especially one with PTSD and anxiety and all kinds of other lovely mental disorders thanks to Thor’s bratty little bro and the Dark Elf invasion.  And no, that wasn’t a funky hipster neo-punk band.  That was real, actual facts trauma that she still dreamed about sometimes.  She hadn’t lately, though.  Not in a long time.    

But somehow, Janey had come through with this clerical job for Stark Industries.  It paid really well.  Even more so now that she’d been promoted to clerical supervisor.  Darcy was paying off those useless student loans and utilizing Stark’s awesome insurance package to get the professional help she needed to get through the day.  

She was down to two monthly visits now, and those, coupled with her lifestyle blog were keeping all the screws screwed.  All the bolts bolted.  All the parts where they needed to be.  

Of course, just thinking about her blog made her want to burrow into a corner and die all over again.  

_ No…no.  Don’t do that.  Just…deep breaths.  Deep breaths.   _

She hadn’t really thought about the possible ramifications of what she was doing.  For her it had been therapy.  Acting.  Role playing.  

She’d started out blogging about her mental illness.  Had called the blog ‘Fruitcake and Bananas: My Journey with Mental Health’.  But all that had done was get her down.  More down than before.  So, her therapist had recommended blogging about her interests instead.  Things she liked.  Just as a distraction. She could talk about her problems in therapy.  She could distract herself with her blog.  

So she’d dropped the second part of the title, kept the ‘Fruitcake and Bananas’, and deleted all her mental health posts to start posting about more happy things. Looking at this with her 20/20 hindsight, she probably shouldn’t have gone so deep into the distraction part of her therapist’s advice.  

She’d started posting pictures of her apartment.  The way she’d decorated.  Her handmade crafts.  She felt better.  Felt good.  

And then, miracle of miracles, people had responded!  

They’d asked her how she made this, or that.  How she did this, or that. 

So she told them about this.  And that.  

And that had turned into tutorials.  And the tutorials had turned into more posts.  

Soon, she was spending a lot of her free time crafting and making her loft apartment something special.  Her safe place.  Something she loved and shared with hundreds of people.  

She shared recipes.  Cookies and one-pot meals.  Lovingly made in her tiny kitchen.  With her handknit oven mitts and her thrifted vintage Pyrex dishes.  

She’d been selling ad space on her blog.  Affiliate links.  Sponsored posts.  Her hobby, her therapy, had started making money.  Not much, but some. Enough for fancy lattes and biscotti at the coffee shop.  Enough to order alpaca yarn for knitting projects.  

And the pull and draw of possibly getting more was intoxicating. 

She got questions and emails asking for personal posts.  About her.  Her readers wanted to get to know the blogger.  

Of course, once they got inside her head, Darcy was worried they’d find her boring.  A single woman living on her own in NYC, working a job that was given to her…that wasn’t interesting.  Not in the slightest.  

So she got a cat.  Which helped a little.  

Bowie was an adorable little gray tabby rescue.  And he was the best damn thing in her life besides her blog.  Bowie the cat and her blog.  

But her ‘Blog-sona’, as she was beginning to realize, needed more than a cat and a billion pictures of tea and muffins.  Her ‘Blog-sona’ needed a man.  

So she invented him.  ‘Mr. Bananas’ as he’d eventually come to be known, started out as just a guy she was dating.  

She mentioned him a little bit at first.  But in lieu of doing a big fancy breakup, she just…kept ‘dating’ him.  His mentions became more and more frequent.  Mostly to give her reasons to show everyone how to knit a scarf, or to make dishtowels from their man’s old flannel shirts.  Or how to make beard balm out of beeswax and essential oils.  

Mostly hipster nonsense, but it got her hits.  And those hits made her money, so no one was complaining.  

It wasn’t like she was hurting anyone.  

That was what she kept repeating to herself as she happily made an announcement about ‘Ms. Fruitcake’ (her blog-sona’s name) and Mr. Banana’s engagement.  She made up a cutesy story about how he’d proposed.  And it was all because she wanted to make bank on all those diy wedding companies out there.  There were a wealth of posts to be made about diy wedding planning.  And she wasn’t hurting ANYONE.  She was helping them.  By sharing her wealth of knowledge of all things crafty.

She made a literal  _ grand _ from her sponsored diy wedding invitation post, talking up a stationary service that sold blank invitations.  The number of hits she got earned her a bonus.  And that bonus paid for a vet visit for Bowie and a mini-vacay for her upstate.

She did centerpieces.  Several options for wedding bouquets, including a wildflower one that got featured on several other wedding blogs.  She didn’t think anything of it, it was all a hobby.  It was fun.  

And she wasn’t hurting  _ anyone _ .  

The date for Ms. Fruitcake and Mr. Bananas’ fake wedding came and went and then there was a whole new market to be cornered:  Newlywed posting.  

And three months later, here she was.  With an email from an actual facts lifestyle magazine, wanting to do a spread on Ms. Fruitcake and Mr. Bananas.  Introduce the real people to the world.  And she honestly thought she was going to hyperventilate.  Because there was no Mr. Bananas.  There was no Ms. Fruitcake.  It was just her.  A sad NYC single with a dead end job and a couple of worldwide crises under her belt. 

A nutty Fruitcake with no shortage of bananas, but not the kind that anyone was looking for.    

She didn’t know how to fix it.  She only knew that she was going to have to come clean to somebody.  And that made her want to hide again.  

Her phone rang, and she jumped a mile.  She looked down, surprised to see Jane’s name on the caller id.  

She answered it. Even though she was in the bathroom.  Even though she only had five minutes left on her break.  

“Are you okay?” came the familiar voice on the other end.  

“Physically yes.  Mentally?  No.”  

“Wanna come get lunch with me today?” Jane asked.  

“Hell yes.”  

“I’ll meet you at one? Same place as always?”  

“Okay. I’ll see you then.” 

She hung up, feeling a tiny bit better and a little bit proud that her friend had obviously dropped what she was doing to call her.  Jane was a genius.  She’d for sure know how to fix this.  

Definitely.      


	2. i was lost and found myself swimming in your mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Split chapter here. More setup, but we get to hear from Bucky! YAYYYY! 
> 
> Special thanks to leftylain for all her help with this chapter! :D 
> 
> Also, like...I'm seriously verklempt over here with emotion because of the amazing feedback I've gotten for this fic. Even for just that piddling little first chapter and I feel so loved! Omg! You guys are amazing! :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I named the magazine that's interested in Darcy. It's called " _Situation_ ". Apologies if there's actually a magazine called that...I was just looking for something that was simple and easy to write out. ;) 
> 
> Also, this is my probably horrible attempt to fix what happened at the end of Civil War. :P Bear with me. :P

Jane was usually punctual.  Darcy would have to give her that.  

She’d arrived at the deli a few minutes early, unable to stand the relentless tapping of everyone’s typing in the other cubicles.  It kept getting louder, harder for her to concentrate.  She knew an impending episode when she felt one. So she’d left a little early, deep breathing in the elevator and on the walk over here.  

This deli was equidistant between where Jane worked now and Stark/Avengers/Stark Tower.  Darcy wasn’t sure which moniker suited the tall, definitely over-compensating-for-something behemoth of a tower anymore.  The Avengers had moved to a compound upstate, and then disbanded…and even though Jane and Thor informed her of the goings-on of the rogue bunch of ne’er-do-wells, Darcy couldn’t really be moved to care about them more than that.  Steve Rogers, in all his buff golden boy glory, was still around.  She’d even seen him a couple of times when she went with Jane to the lab.  He came by to visit Thor on occasion as well.  

She wasn’t really sure what the situation was between Steve and Tony Stark.  

She knew they’d fought.  And she knew they’d kind of had a friend breakup.  But beyond that, she wasn’t exactly sure.  Steve had gotten pardons for all of the Rogue-vengers, had broken them out of that underwater prison.  

Thor hadn’t been involved in that fiasco, and Darcy had to admit, she was grateful.  Jane was a mess when she didn’t know where Thor was.  And Thor had seemed to take that in mind now before getting involved in interplanetary playground wars.  

A soft ' _coo'_ to her left distracted her from any other thoughts as she glared sideways at a pigeon.  Darcy frowned and kicked in it’s vaguely general direction with her shoe.  “Get out of here…” She didn’t want to get labeled as a pigeon kicker, but she didn’t really care for the dumb little things.  Or any birds really…they all gave her an uneasy feeling.  Ever since that flock of them had flown through a portal in London and scared the bejeezus out of her. Seriously...what kind of person wouldn't be upset by a flock of birds flying up their skirt?  Flock, murmuration, whatever.   

A trigger, her therapist called them.  Birds were harmless, but they reminded her of an incident that scared her shitless.  So, instead of thinking about that thing, her poor little brain had attached all those feelings of fear and hopelessness to that flock of birds.  So birds were forever tainted in her mind.  

“Get out of here…” she hissed, letting her bag fall from her shoulder and onto the pavement beside her leg, hoping it would scare it off.  

It did. It made it fly away with a squawk.  

Darcy sighed in relief, turning to her right just in time to see Jane approaching her.  Her friend tilted her head sympathetically and opened her arms.  To which, Darcy immediately enveloped her in a hug.  “Missed you, Janey.”  

“I saw you two days ago.”  

“No, hon.  That was last week,” she gently reminded her.  Science brain can’t be bothered with the passage of time.

“Was it?” Jane frowned.  “Sorry…”  

Darcy shrugged.  “It’s really okay. Didn’t really need you until today.”  

Jane grinned.  “Well, I’m glad I could be here.”  She turned and steered Darcy into the deli.  “You know, you can always go inside and wait for me.  Fewer…birds in there.”  

Darcy chuckled dryly.  “They don’t freak me out when they’re just sitting there.”  

“Right…that’s why you were trying to off that one with your bag?”  

“Wasn’t trying to  _ off _ it!” she protested.  “Just trying to scare it a little.  Maybe it’ll tell its pigeon friends that I’m not to be trifled with.”  

Jane dragged her over to the counter so they could order.  

She ordered her usual.  A Reuben on marble rye.  Dressing on the side.  Salt and vinegar kettle chips.  Basically just more proof she had no one to kiss her, so who cared what kind of stinky food she ate? 

Darcy was planning to wait until after she finished eating to spill her guts, but that turned into two bites of her sandwich and four chips.  “A magazine wants to do a spread on me and Mr. Bananas…”

Jane got up and switched over to her side of the booth.  “Which magazine was it?”  

“ _ Situation…”   _

“Holy shit.   _ Situation _ wants to do a spread on you?” Jane’s eyes widened.  “Wait.  Right.  Not the part to focus on right now.”  

Darcy let her head drop into her hands.  “I have to stop blogging.”  

“Why?” Jane’s hand on her back was a comfort.  A small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. 

“Because, someone’s bound to find out I’m lying.  Even if I don’t do the spread.  And once that happens, I’m toast.  Nobody likes a lying blogger.  Never mind that they all do it.  The trick is to do it without getting caught.  I flew too high to the sun, Janey. “  She made a hissing sound with her teeth to indicate the sizzling of her ass once the sun scorched her to cinders.  “It’s about time I burnt up.”  

Jane rubbed her back.  “Just…don’t do anything right now.  You’ve got a few days.  Put a few nights of sleep between you and it.”  

“But this is bad, though.  I’m not over-exaggerating?”  

Her friend hesitated.  “Well.  It’s not  _ good _ .”

“This caused you to switch booth sides.  This is a booth-side-switching problem.  There’s only one problem worse than a booth-side-switching problem.”  

“What’s that?”  

“A why-don’t-you-come-over-for-dinner-with-me-and-my-hunky-demigod-boyfriend problem.”  

“Well, I guess that makes my impending invitation to come have dinner with Thor and I a little bit suspect…but I promise, I was going to ask you anyway.  Regardless of the  _ Situation _ situation.”  

Darcy groaned and put her head down on the table.  

“Do you want to?  Thor’s gonna grill out, and I told him I ask you so he knows how many bratwurst to pick up.”  

“You know I’ll be there.  I just need to go feed Bowie after work.”  

Jane squeezed her shoulder.  “It’ll be okay, Darcy.  We’ll figure something out.”  

* * *

 

Bucky tossed his clothing into his backpack.  He hoisted it up onto his back and winced at the ache he hadn’t realized was there.  It was stuck right between his shoulder blades, radiating up his neck and making his head hurt.  He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.  

He didn’t know if he hadn’t realized he’d been hurting or if he’d just grown so used to the feeling that he just didn’t notice it anymore. Unless it got worse.  

Bucky knew he was a mess, and back pain was just the tip of the iceberg.  

He hadn’t been able to relax in years.  He was pretty sure the muscles in his shoulders and back consisted of just knots and tension.  That if he went and got a massage like Natasha kept telling him to, he’d just cease to exist.  Because underneath the soreness and knotted muscles, he just  _ wasn’t _ anymore.  

It was difficult to really pinpoint the problem.  

It wasn’t his memory.  That wasn’t it.  

Wanda had fixed his brain back in Wakanda after Steve had saved them all from that prison.  She was a plucky little thing, that Wanda Maximoff.  Plucky and battered like the rest of them.  She lived on a diet of herbal tea and cynicism.  She hadn’t even flinched when she looked into his mind.  Hadn’t even broken a sweat as she untangled the broken strands of his memory and knit them back together.  Good as…well…not new.  But as good as it was going to get.  

It wasn’t his memories that bothered him.  And it wasn’t the nightmares either.  He was used to the nightmares.  He’d be worried if they went away, to be completely honest.  

And there was no danger of Hydra getting their hands on him anymore.  Those trigger words didn’t work now, thanks to Wanda and her Maximoff-patented brain blender.    

It wasn’t any of  _ that stuff _ that had him all bent up and wound tighter than a violin.  

So, it had to be this  _ life _ .  

Steve brought him everything he needed. He moved him every four days to a new safe house.  

Bucky had worked his way up the east coast, across Canada and down the west coast before hitching a ride on a quinjet to the other side of the country again to start the circuit over.  

Steve was a good guy, always had been.  He did everything he was able to in order to make sure Bucky was fine.  

Problem was…he  _ wasn’t _ fine.  And if Bucky was noticing, Steve had to be too.  

He kept one eye on the door no matter where he was.  He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in what felt like ever.  This wasn’t a way to live.  He wasn’t  _ even _ living, he was existing.  And even that was slipping away.   _ He _ was slipping away.  Turning into some kind of weird hermit who talked to himself.  He was touch starved.  Talk-starved.  Person-starved. 

Steve tried, bless him.  Tried to call him, keep him up to date on how his case was going.  

Bucky eventually had to tell him to stop updating him on that, though.  It was one step forward, two steps back it seemed. Steve would call with good news and then bad news.  And then more bad news.  With so many factors working against him, nobody knew when Bucky be able to enter back into the population again.

Something needed to change.  He just didn’t know what.    

Bucky took one last look around the cabin he’d spent the weekend in.  It was a nice, quiet area.  Tranquil.  There was a hiking path out back.  Went to a spring or some shit like that.  Not that he’d seen it or anything.  It was more of a myth to him.  A legend.  The legend of the spring out back.

He just couldn’t keep this up.  

He walked out into the front clearing at exactly 0600 hours, the sun was peeking up over the horizon and the quinjet motor was damn near silent as it landed.  

He looked up, surprised to see Barton piloting this one.  He usually got some nameless so-and-so who never spoke or looked at him.  Not nameless in that they lacked importance, but nameless in that they were top level clearance and loyal to Steve’s cause in the new SHIELD.  Nameless because as far as the layman was concerned, they didn’t exist.  

Barton, however.  He made the public circuit now.  Public Relations. He had one of those faces the media liked.   Hawkeye.  

Bucky caught a glance of his reflection in the quinjet windows.  He used to have one of those faces.  Not lately, however.  And definitely not right now.  He let his hand drag over his five-day-old beard.  At least nobody would recognize him.  Looking like Grizzly Adams after too many beers and not enough sleep.

The side door opened and Steve smiled down at him, extending his arm.  Bucky couldn’t help but smile at his friend and feel relieved for the company.  

They were buckled up in their seats before either of them spoke.  

“To what do I owe the honor?” Bucky asked, another smile pulling at his lips against his will.  He couldn’t help that he was happy to see Steve. 

Steve smiled, shrugging slightly as he looked out the window.  “Thought you could use the company…you didn’t sound so good when I talked to you last time.”  

“I didn’t?”  That was news to him. Of course, he wasn’t paying attention to how he sounded on the phone.  He supposed if anyone would know about that, it’d be Steve.  

Steve shrugged again.  “Not really.  I…uh…figure we need to come up with something a little more long term…”  

“That bad, huh?” Bucky chuckled dryly and looked out the window.  

“Yeah…looks like it could be another year or more…”  Steve pressed his lips together and looked down, almost like he was ashamed to tell him.  

“Oh. Wow.  You didn’t try speakin’ on my behalf, did ya?”  

Steve snorted.  “No, nothing like that…it’s just…everything’s tied up in red tape right now.  It’s hard to move forward…especially with no evidence of your brain washing.”  

Bucky nodded solemnly.  “So what’s the plan?  Dye my hair and put me in witness protection?”  

“Well…”  

Bucky snapped his head around to stare at Steve.  “You’re not serious.”  

“Well.  No…you’re just…partly correct.”  

He frowned in confusion.  “Partly?”  

“Well, for witness protection to really work…you have to immerse yourself in the community…and it’s easier for a man to do that if he has…you know…a wife and a family.”  

Bucky frowned.  “Sorry to disappoint you, Stevie, but being on the run for the past year hasn’t exactly afforded me the opportunity to meet anyone.  I mean, I know I’m charming and a great catch and all that…” He reached up to scratch at his beard again.  

Steve smirked and shook his head.  “No, we’d…assign someone to be your wife. An agent.”  

“How sweet,” he quipped in reply.  

“Look, I have a couple agents in mind, just sit down and meet them, okay?  

“What, today?” Bucky asked, a little bewildered.  “How did you know I’d say yes?  I haven’t really said yes yet, you know…”

“I figured you’d want to meet them first before you give me a definitive answer.  You’d be living with them for quite a while and I’d want you to be comfortable in the situation…”  

“I look…” Bucky shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  “I look like a hobo, Steve.” 

“They won’t care.  Plus, we’ll clean ya up before the actual fake stuff begins.”  

Bucky sighed.  “Fine…I’ll talk to them.  Not promising anything, so get that hopeful look off your face, punk.”  

Steve smirked and covered his face with his hand.  

“Still there.  Can see it in your eyes.”  

* * *

 

“Buck…come on, be reasonable.”  Steve walked in and sat down in the chair that Agent Richmond had just vacated.  “Val is the top of her class at SHIELD…she’s a little green, sure, but…”    

“I don’t care if she’s green or not, she was  _ cold _ , Stevie. Both of them were.  Val  _ and _ the first one.  Even though the first one was worse than her.  I can’t…there was nothing there.  If I’m gonna pretend, I have to have something to hold onto.  A friendship at least.  Neither of them had a sense of humor.  At all.”  

Steve sighed.  “We’re not looking for a love connection, Buck…”  

“I know that,” he snapped.  “I just, I couldn’t even pretend with them.  I can’t do that for the next year.  I might as well go it  _ alone _ .”  He emphasized the last word and noticed when Steve winced.  He didn’t like using that against him, but he couldn’t see the merit of living a complete lie. To smile and hold hands and then go their separate ways.  Co-workers who lived together.   “I want to have some kind of chemistry with her.  It’s not going to look real at all if I don’t.”  

“Okay…okay.  I get it.  I do.”  Steve nodded and stood up again, walking wearily to the window.  “I have a dinner invitation tonight, and I’ll think about this and get back to you tomorrow, okay, Buck?”  He turned to face him.  “Do not go anywhere.  Alright?”  He held his hand out. 

Bucky took it, shaking it and pulling him closer for a one armed hug.  “I won’t go anywhere.  I’ll stay here.”  

“I’ll be back first thing tomorrow.  We’ll have breakfast, we’ll figure this out.”  

Bucky nodded, letting the silence fill the room a little before speaking again.  Changing the subject.  “You got a dinner date, Rogers? With Sharon?”

Steve smiled, his discomfort evident, “Nah.  That’s over.  That was…it didn’t work out.  This…this is a friend thing.  Thor and Dr. Jane Foster?  They invited me over for a barbecue.”  

Bucky returned the expression.  A hard smile set on his face even though he felt more than a little hurt that he was so behind on things. That he hadn’t known his best buddy and his girl had broken things off.  It only reinforced the decision he’d made earlier.  He had to make this work with one of the agents.  He was tired of being on the outskirts.  He was tired of being such a drain on everyone he knew.  

Surely he’d have chemistry with one of these agents.  

He’d have to.       


	3. help me chief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! Sorry for the long time between updates. I'm hoping to get more on a schedule for this. *fingers crossed* 
> 
> Still no meeting in this chapter. I know. I know. I added a slow burn tag, though. ;) 
> 
> But yay for barbecues! I really hope my Thor is okay. I am always self conscious about him when I write him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed, because I like to live dangerously.
> 
> Chapter title from 'Swept Away' by the Avett Brothers.

As far as barbecues went, this one was pretty standard.  If you ignored the fact that an Asgardian prince was doing the grilling, an award-winning astrophysicist was manning the music, and you know…the guests included Darcy and like…CAPTAIN FUCKING AMERICA.  No big.  Whatev. 

True, Darcy had been in Golden Boy’s presence on more than one occasion.  But never like this.  Never as 25% of the population of the room he was currently occupying.  It wasn’t like she was crushing on Shield-boy at all.  No way.  She had way too many issues to ever fall for a super soldier.  

But still.   She was Star-Spangled-Struck.  Because Steve Rogers was wearing his civilian clothes and munching on chips in Jane and Thor’s living room.  

He liked sour cream and onion chips.  Who knew?  

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh.  My.  Effing. God,”  Darcy muttered under her breath, slicing away at the vegetables while Jane tried to settle on a song.  She’d started another Florence + The Machine.  Which was fine.  If she’d freaking pick the song, put down the iPod and get her ass out here so Darcy could talk to her.  

She had a nice little stack of tomatoes.  Another of onions (holy shit, why did she even try to slice onions first?) and a couple of teary eyes as a result.  A pile of chopped bell peppers for the bratwurst.  There was sliced cheese in attendance. And Darcy was totally concentrating dutifully on her job as vegetable slicer because she was worried about the  _ beef _ having the correct condiments and whatnot.  Definitely  _ not _ because she was avoiding the  _ beefcake _ in the living room.  

Steve as per usual, was nice enough, if a little bit preoccupied.  But, Darcy supposed, it was likely a bit preoccupying simply  _ being _ Captain America.  He had all kinds of freedom, liberty and patriotism on his mind.  

Darcy was probably taking her slicing a bit too seriously. She was trying so hard to  _ look _ like she wasn’t paying attention to the other occupants of the room that she actually  _ stopped _ paying attention to the other occupants of the room.  Losing herself in onion slices and pepper chunks and humming along to ‘Cosmic Love’ proved to be a not-so-great move on her part.  When she was finished with the cutting board, she balanced the knife on top and turned abruptly, running directly into a broad shouldered, All-American wall-o-man.  

“Oh jeez…” She looked directly up into his face and started stammering like a doofus.  “I’m sorry — oh jeez — I’m really sorry, dude…”  

He smirked slightly, or maybe it wasn’t really a smirk. It wasn’t as sarcastic or cynical as a smirk.  More like a half-smile.  At any rate, he stopped being so man-wall and became more boy-next-door.  “It’s fine, it’s fine…” He took the cutting board from her, turning to place it in the sink, pausing to ask, “Or was that not where you were going with it?”  

“No, no.  I was done with all the…veggie chopping.  Slicing.  Chlicing?  All the veggie chlicing has been completed! They’re ready for the burgers.  Brats. Bratwurst.  What have you…” She laughed nervously and wiped her hands on her jeans.  “You are seriously taller in person…does anyone tell you that?” 

“Mostly I hear the opposite…”  

“Well…I mean.  I guess I’m kinda fun-size or whatever, so everyone looks tall next to me. I’m snack-sized for your convenience!”  She reached out to punch his shoulder playfully, regretting both the action and the words immediately.  Backtracking imminent. Queue loud truck-backing-up beeps to warn the passersby.  “I mean…you know…not for  _ your _ convenience…I just mean…you-slash-your as a collective?”  

She got a full smile from him then as he took a glass from the counter behind her.  “I picked up on that.”  

“I’m gonna go out  _ there _ now.” She pointed vaguely toward the living room.  “So I don’t embarrass myself or anyone else with my runaway gob…”  She reached for the apron strings, untying the garment and hanging it on one of the knobs as she made her way out of the kitchen, mentally kicking herself the whole way out.  

She sank down on the couch, pulling Jane down beside her.  “Oh my blob,  _ where _ were you?”  

Jane frowned, as if it was obvious.  “I was here?  I’ve been here the whole night?”  

“NO.  Where were you when I was running off at the mouth to Steven F. Rogers?”  

“His middle name is Grant.”  

“It’s…” Darcy sighed in exasperation.  “It’s a figure of speech, Janey.  The ‘F’ stands for ‘Fucking’.  As in Steven  _ Fucking _ Rogers?”  

“Oh right…” Jane turned her head to look at Steve in the kitchen.  “What did you say?”  

Darcy groaned.  “Don’t make me relive it…” 

“Well, how am I supposed to run damage control if I don’t know what you said?”  

“I said a bunch of stuff.  I made up a new word. ‘Chliced’?”  

“Chliced?”  

“Chopped and sliced.  It’s a portmanteau…where you mash two words together and—”  

“I know what a portmanteau is,” Jane reminded her.  

“Anyway, I rammed him in the stomach with the cutting board.  I told him he was tall.  Told him I was snack-sized for your convenience…”  

“ _ My _ convenience?” 

“No.  The COLLECTIVE  _ your _ ?”  

Jane took a deep breath.  “Well, I mean…that’s not  _ so _ bad.  You know, Steve actually is capable of dealing with all kinds of people in a rational manner?”

Darcy groaned again.  “I was an idiot, Jane.”  

“Well…” her friend reached over to rub her back soothingly.  “It’s going to be okay.  I promise.  I’m sure he just thought it was cute.”  

“UGHHHH.”  

“Darcy…”  

“Do  _ not _ patronize me, please.”  

Jane tilted her head sympathetically. “I’m sorry.  Want me to run interference for the rest of the night?’  

“How am I supposed to avoid a quarter of your party guests?” Darcy chuckled darkly.

“Thor will be inside soon.”  

She pursed her lips and nodded.  “Yeah.  Okay.  Prince Pecs can keep Captain Quads off my radar.”  

Jane reached for her soda, taking a sip and gazing out onto the patio where Thor was grilling.  “Prince Pecs?  I’d say Thor’s biceps are his defining feature.”  

“Yeah, but that’s not an alliteration.”  

“Ahhhh,” she nodded knowingly.  “Forgive me.  I should never question the master about her craft.”  

“Damn straight.  I’ll leave the stars to you.  You leave the frivolous, demeaning, and objectifying nicknames to me.”  

“Thor loves it.”  

“Yeah, well.  He’s cool.”  

“Is he?  Thor’s cool?”  

“Of course.  He’s pulled a major chill-out since New Mexico.”  

Jane touched her forehead in a salute and mouthed, “Major Chill-Out” along with Darcy.  It was a little something they’d picked up from binging ‘How I Met Your Mother’ so many times.  They kept watching to see if the ending ever made sense.  It never did.  But they got a cute quirky friend thing out of it anyway.  

“I think he’s adapting to Midgardian-life pretty well…” Jane agreed.   

“You’re pretty cool too, you know that, Janey?”  

“Yep,” she said definitively.  “You wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”  

“Not true, not true,” Darcy argued.  “I hung out with you plenty when you weren’t cool.”  

* * *

 

Steve took another sip from his glass of water, trying to inconspicuously watch the woman seated in the living room with Jane. It was difficult to do while gazing in through the back porch door and simultaneously ‘helping’ Thor with the grill.   

Darcy wasn’t a stranger by any stretch, but he wouldn’t call them friendly either.  He knew of her through Dr. Foster, and from the files on both the Puento Antiguo incident and the London Dark Elves incident.  She’d handled herself fairly well.  Even going so far as to run Dr. Foster’s equipment around during the Dark Elf invasion.  He’d actually been impressed by her bravery in both situations.  

And he was impressed with her now.  

She was real.  Check.  

With a decent, if a little odd, sense of humor.  Check.  

She was awkward, but a little awkwardness never hurt anyone.    

And she was no stranger to the workings of SHIELD.  Workings, protocol, etcetera.  Check, check and check.  

If he hadn’t spent the entire day listening to Bucky complaining about and saying  _ no _ to the agents he had introduced, Steve wouldn’t have even  _ considered _ bringing a non-agent into this fiasco.  But Bucky was right.  He needed someone he could connect with.  Not a love connection, no.  But a friend connection?  Maybe?  

Maybe Darcy was the key to this whole puzzle.  

It was true that he’d only spent minimal time with her, but going off of that, plus the information SHIELD had compiled, he felt he was right to be impressed with her.   

“You seem deep in thought, my friend…” Thor nudged him with his elbow before flipping a few of the burgers.  

“What can you tell me about Darcy?” Steve asked, his lips forming the question before he could stop himself.  And by the twinkle in his friend’s eye, Thor had completely misunderstood his reason for asking.  

“Lady Darcy is a mighty woman indeed.  She is the only Midgardian yet to have bested me in combat.”  

Steve chuckled.  “Now, I don’t know about that…you seemed pretty defeated the last time we sparred.”  

Thor shook his head, “Only in your dreams, I’m afraid.  No, I was quite incapacitated after only a few moments in battle with Darcy Lewis.”  

“Oh right.  She tased you.”  

Thor scoffed.  “She…she used a weapon, this is true.”  

“A taser.  I read Coulson’s report.”  

“I would like to ask you to be on the receiving end of such a weapon while in a weakened state.”  

Steve smiled, looking down and scuffing the bricks with his shoe.  “Still, it was certainly brave of her.  Even without your Asgardian super strength, you’re still a force to be reckoned with.  And not a small guy, either. She didn’t even  _ flinch _ .”  

Thor beamed proudly.  “She is one of the bravest souls in all the realms, Steven.  I’ve met only a few others with her caliber of personal strength.”  

“You seem very confident in that.”  

“Aye, I am.   Are you…in search of a woman of that caliber?”  Thor grinned knowingly and Steve had the good manners to blush.  

It seemed he was correct in his assumption. And Thor was right, Darcy was of a very high caliber.  However, Steve already had a woman of similar caliber who somehow let him get close to her.  He wasn’t looking at Darcy for himself.  

Steve laughed.  “No, no.  Not that she’s not…fantastic.  Because she is.  I’m simply interested for other reasons.  There is a mission…”  

Thor’s demeanor changed immediately.  From one of mirth to one of justifiable caution.  “For SHIELD?  You know Darcy isn’t affiliated with them.” 

“I know.  But, I think…for this?  She might be a good fit.”  

“Well, as you well know…I am not the one to speak for her.  You’ll have to talk to her directly.”  

“I assumed as much,” Steve said. “I just wanted…I wanted your opinion.  Do you think she’d be open to working with SHIELD again?” 

“It matters not what I think.  It’s not me you’re asking for a favor.  Even though, I’d be happy to assist you in any way I can.”  

Steve clapped Thor on the back, briefly entertaining the thought of him pretending to be married to Bucky for witness protection purposes.  The resulting mental images were definitely blackmail material, so he quickly moved on.  He figured it wouldn’t make the best impression to barely be able to keep a straight face when he approached Darcy with his proposition.  

He thanked Thor for the offer and made his way back inside, hoping to catch Darcy without Jane again.  Not that he wanted to keep anything from Dr. Foster, but he thought it might be easier to ask someone to fake-marry his best friend if fewer people were in attendance.  

* * *

 

“So let me get this straight…you’re asking me to  _ marry _ some guy I’ve never even met?  And then go play house with him upstate for an indefinite amount of time?  And oh yeah, I’ve never met him.  Did I mention that?  Because it seems like more emphasis needs to be put on  _ that _ .  It’s some weird shit, Captain Rogers.” Darcy’s hands were on her hips and she was giving him a dressing down like he hadn’t experienced in years.  Decades.  Thoughts of Peggy Carter entered into his mind.  Fond memories nonetheless.  And they only cemented his opinion of Darcy.  Gone was the awkwardness from before and now if anything,  _ he _ was the one who was stammering and quite frankly, a little starstruck.  Only a little.  The rest of him was good and scared.  Which was probably not a bad thing. If  _ he _ was scared, she’d be able to handle Bucky with no problem.   

Steve rubbed the back of his head.  “Would it help if you met him first?” he offered weakly.   

Darcy’s mouth hung open for a few minutes.  “The man who is to be my husband?  Sure.  I’d LOVE to meet him,” she quipped sarcastically.  

“You don’t have to do this…I — I honestly don’t know what I was thinking. I was out of line.  I apologize, Ms. Lewis.”  

“I haven’t said no.  I dunno if you noticed or not, since you were so busy trying to backtrack, but I haven’t said no.”  

Steve looked down at his feet.  “Do you…have an answer?”  

“I need to talk to Jane first.”  

“Of course. I — of course, you should get a second opinion.  It’s a big decision.”  

“Getting married?  Yeah.  Yeah, it is,” she huffed indignantly.   

“It wouldn’t be a real marriage…” he reminded her.  Gently.   

“But it might as well be.” 

Steve faltered for a moment.  “Well…yes.”

“Who is he? Am I allowed to know?”  

“Of course.”  He ran his hand through his hair, thinking that he’d never sweat this much or been as under-prepared as he was for all these questions.  He almost felt like he was in school again. Late and sans math homework. Thor was right.  Darcy was a strong individual.  And that radiated from her entire being.  Especially when she was scrutinizing his every move.  “Sergeant James Barnes.” 

Her eyebrows shot up nearly to her hairline.  “Sergeant James Barnes.  As in James BUCHANAN Barnes?  As in your former Howling Buddy?” 

He nodded.  “As in…”  

“As in Hydra’s main man, the Winter Soldier?” 

“That was while he was—”  

“Brainwashed, yeah, I know.  I watch your speeches.”  

He exhaled slowly.  “You have to understand, if I thought he was dangerous…”  

“You wouldn’t even think of asking me.  I figured.  Your reputation precedes you, believe it or not.”  

He chuckled dryly.  “It looks like you are definitely up to date on Avengers news.”  

“Well, I mean.  I kind of try to keep track of all the assassins you guys employ…” She folded her arms over her front.  “He’s not dangerous, though?”  

Steve shook his head.  “I give you my word on that. He’s not dangerous.”  

She nodded once.  “Lemme go talk to Jane.  I’ll be right with you, Captain Matchmaker.”  

* * *

 

Jane let out the breath she was holding slowly, letting the air hiss out into the silence of her bedroom.  “That…that is a lot of information to get in thirty seconds, Darce…”  

“What should I do?”  

“Do you want to go get married to Sergeant Barnes?  Even fake married…that’s a  _ huge _ commitment…for an indeterminate amount of time.”  

Darcy shrugged.  “I dunno?  Maybe?  Yes?  I feel like I should…if Captain Patriotism in there is asking me, I feel like I probably should at least  _ think _ about it…”  

“Don’t do it because you should.  Do it because you want to.  Otherwise, it’s going to be a very boring and lonely indeterminate amount of time.”

“I mean, I don’t have anything else going on…” Darcy mused.  “And it sounds like a fun gig.  Nice big house.  I can take Bowie…very few pigeons, even less people…”  

Jane nodded. “Yeah, but there are other birds upstate.  Starlings.  House wrens.  Cardinals? Not to mention that you would be pretend-married to an actual facts assassin.  I mean, I believe Steve when he says he was brainwashed, but he still… _ did _ those things. What if he has people after him?”  

“Steve said there would be other agents there in the neighborhood.  Like, the whole cul de sac is going to be nothing but SHIELD agents. I’d be well protected.”  

“Well, I should hope so…”

Darcy bit her bottom lip for a moment, worrying with the hem of her t-shirt.  “Speaking of the birds…do you think I’ll be able to handle it? I mean…with my issues and all…what about my therapy?”  

“Well, I’m sure they’ll be able to work something out.  Your therapist is based upstate anyway.  It might be easier to get an appointment when you don’t have to wait for her to be in the city.  And she can’t disclose your real identity anyway.  So I guess as long as they have people watching her too?”  

“You are aware that upstate isn’t this magical place where everything’s close by, right?”  

Jane inhaled and let it out again.  “Darcy.  I’m not going to talk you into this.  I’m not going to talk you out of it.  It’s your decision.  And I’ll support whatever you decide to do.”  

Darcy sighed.  “But you must have  _ some kind _ of an opinion.”  

“Do you  _ really _ want my opinion?”  

“That’s kind of why I asked, Janey.”  

“Okay.  Well, I think it’d do you good to get out of the city.  I’ll miss you like crazy, Darce.  But it sounds like it could be just what you need.  Plus.  You’d be married.  You wouldn’t have to lie on your blog anymore.”  

Darcy snorted loudly.  “Yes.  Let’s let my blog make this decision for me…”  

Jane reached out to rub her shoulder.  “It’s  _ your _ decision.  What’s your gut feeling?”  

“I think…that I need to meet my ‘intended’ before I make any concrete decisions.”  

“So go tell Steve you want to meet him.”  

She nodded slowly. “Okay.  But if this turns out terrible, I’m blaming you.”  

Jane smirked, “As if I’d expect anything less.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love, guys. <3


	4. i've got plans for you and me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EEEP, here it is. The meeting. And...wedding bells? Do I hear wedding bells? 
> 
> Special thanks to Leftennant for helping me figure out this chapter. I was hella nervous because I wanted this to be perfect. And I think it is. <3 Healthy amounts of snarkasm. (is that a word? Idc, I just coined it if it's not). 
> 
> This is Bucky's POV, we'll get more from Darcy in the next chapter. I'm going to try *fingers crossed* to go back and forth with each chapter from now on. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'The Minnow and the Trout' by A Fine Frenzy.

Bucky exhaled loudly, looking around the room.  The last agent had been the worst one yet.  He was starting to think that Steve might be joshing him, playing a practical joke.  These women were pretty much as inappropriate for the job as they possibly could be.  

They’d only been interviewing applicants for a couple of hours, but it felt like he’d been here all day.  His back was still aching, right between his shoulder blades.  Something about these beds he’d been sleeping in just wasn’t sitting right with him.  He was really thinking seriously about getting a massage.  Except he would have to take his shirt off and likely leave an emotional scar on the poor massage therapist for life when they saw his arm, so never mind.  

Maybe they could finish up here early so he could go back to the room where he was staying and try to turn the shower on as hot as it would go.  Maybe that would make up for the piddling water pressure.  It had felt like he was standing under a lukewarm water fountain the previous night.  It had been why he didn’t bother shaving again.  

That, and the double takes he got from the agents who came in to interview for the position were priceless.  All these prim and coiffed SHIELD agents side-eying him like he was gonna snag their purses or something.  It was amusing. And he needed something amusing.     

Elyssa Mays, the first interview of the morning, had spoken in a dry monotone for 99% of her interview. During which, Bucky was so bored that he started counting the comb marks in her hair.  Sixteen, if anyone was interested. From ear to ear and joining in the back for a bun that would have put his sixth grade math teacher to shame.  

Rita Sisk, the second agent he’d been introduced to, was anything  _ but _ boring. But, she seemed to be overly concerned about who was taking care of her birds while she was gone.  She had a flock of brightly colored parakeets, according to the entire album dedicated to them on her phone that she’d scooted across the table for Bucky to see.  She cared deeply about her birds, but didn’t seem to grasp the idea that she’d be spending time with  _ him  _ the whole time they were under cover.  It was all she could talk about. Who was going to feed her birds and were they sure she couldn’t take them with her?

She’d come and gone and Steve turned to look at him.  

“First one was too boring.  Second one was too...birds.”  He said definitively in response to his friend’s quizzically raised eyebrows.  

“Fine…”  Steve said with a sigh, side swiping the information for Comb-Marks and Birds off his tablet screen.  “Next is Agent Lewis.”  

The door opened and she walked through.  A slight little thing with legs up to her neck and curves to write home about.  Bucky was aware he might be staring a little too intently, so he looked down at the paper file in front of him.  Steve’s assistant had brought him paper copies of each agent’s resumé before they’d gotten started today, probably because he’d flat out told them he wasn’t going to fool around with a tablet.  He didn’t feel like stumbling through new technology in front of these women.  It was bad enough that he looked like some hapless fool they’d dragged in off the street.  He didn’t have to act the part too.  

He hadn’t even bothered to flip to Agent Sisk’s resumé, he’d been too busy swiping through her hundreds of bird photos.  

So he busied himself by flipping maniacally through the sheets, seemingly unable to find Agent Lewis’ information.  

“Um…I don’t think I have a copy of this…” He turned towards Steve who waved his hand vaguely and nodded towards his tablet.  As if to imply that Bucky didn’t need one because Steve had it.    

He sighed and folded his hands while Agent Lewis got situated in the chair.  Great, now he had no way to look busy.He’d been hoping to stare at a piece of paper, and not have to look at her, because he was more than certain now that he just didn’t know when to quit when it came to gazing at her. 

And this wasn’t why he was here.  

She had long dark hair that was swept up into a high ponytail. It was long and curled at the ends.  Her red lips were pouty, and he was definitely staring at her legs again when she crossed them.  She was wearing heels.  Tan, that matched the skirt. 

She had more personality in that one heel than any of the others had in their entire bodies.  He could tell by looking at her.  He pushed all other feelings aside.  Making moony-eyes at this girl wasn’t going to help him at all.  He had to look at her objectively.  And objectively, she had more personality in one heel than any of the others had in their entire bodies.  Objectively.

Except maybe for the Bird-lady.  Bucky couldn’t even remember her name because honestly, Bird-lady wasn’t even a contender.       

“Agent Darcy Lewis?”  Steve said slowly.  “It says here that you’re a Domestic Specialist with SHIELD, can you elaborate more on what that is?”  

She smiled nervously, pressing her lips together and smoothing down the length of her pencil skirt.  

Bucky tilted his head as he watched her.  She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear before speaking.  She definitely wasn’t like Agent Comb-Marks at all.  Comb-Marks was like a wind up doll, complete with helmet-hair.  Darcy Lewis held herself differently than the other agents.  She held herself like a real person.  He needed something else, though.  Something else to support his recommendation.  ‘Not like the other agents’ wasn’t strong enough a reason.  He was gonna sound like he was sweet on her or something.

“Um, well.  It’s sort of made-up position...they didn’t know what to call me, so I’m a Domestic Specialist.”  She chuckled dryly and continued.  “I helped Thor of Asgard with his adaptation to our planet and culture.”  

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up into the stratosphere.  Now,  _ that _ was impressive.  So she’d worked around enhanced individuals before.   _ That _ was something he could take to the bank.    

“I  _ do _ see that here. You came highly recommended by Thor,  _ and  _  by Drs. Foster and Selvig.  It says here that you were instrumental in the Puente Antiguo incident as well as the Dark Elf invasion in London?”  Steve continued.   

She nodded tersely.  “Yes sir.”  

Steve could have probably leaned over and blew him onto the floor.  Knocked him over with a feather.  Field experience, Enhanced individual experience.  And she had a personality.  

_ And her legs go up to there.   _

“If you and Mr. Barnes decide that this position is a good fit for you, what will you bring to the assignment that we can’t get from any other agent?”  

Steve had asked this question of every single applicant, and Bucky had usually tuned out by now.  Was counting down the minutes until they got to stand up and shake hands, tell her they’d be in touch.  However, to the contrary, with Agent Lewis he was on the edge of his seat, waiting to hear what she had to say.  

She pressed her lips together.  “Well, you get my expertise with enhanced people, but I’m not famous, so I’m not recognizable.  I can slip into the role without anyone batting an eye.  I’m really good at what I do, which is domestics.  I actually run a lifestyle blog in my spare time, so I know how to keep a house and cook, and do all the things that a supposed newlywed is expected to do. I wouldn’t look out of place.”

“Would you be running this blog while we’re on assignment?”  Bucky found himself asking.  He had to know.  It was a potential flub.  If she was too well known online, this might not work.    

“I don’t use my real name on the blog ever.  It’s actually a fabricated account of an individual who doesn’t exist,” she said blatantly.  

“We were planning on working it into your cover…” Steve said quietly.  “If you and Agent Lewis decide that you can work together, that is.”  

Bucky narrowed his eyes slightly.  They were already working on a cover.  So Stevie must have thought he’d like this one.  Realization dawned on him.  He knew why Agents Mays and Sisk were so terrible.  They were decoys.  And Lewis was the real deal.  It was sneaky, but he had to hand it to Steve.  He knew him really well.  

Bucky nodded.  “It sounds like a good cover, you’re right...I  _ do _ have a couple more questions for you, Agent Lewis, if that’s alright…”  

He could practically feel Steve bristling beside him.  

She smiled sweetly, folding her hands on the table.  “Go ahead.”  

“So, did Steve pay you to come in here, or did you owe him a gigantic favor?”  

Her mouth hung open for a moment.  

Steve was the first to speak.  “Now, Buck…”  

“I’ll answer him,” she said sharply, her blue eyes trained first on Steve and then on Bucky.  She narrowed them slightly.  “I’m here, Mr. Didn’t-Bother-To-Shave, because I trust Cap’s judgement.  He says you’re good people, so I’m all in to help good people.  I’m not being paid by Steve, and I don’t owe him a thing.  He said he thought this would work, and I told him I’d give it a shot.” She reached for her bag at that point, shouldering it and standing up. “I came because I  _ wanted  _ to be here, and now I’m leaving because I don’t.”   

She turned back to Steve.  “He’s a real gem, Cap.  I’m sure you won’t have any problems marrying  _ him  _ off.  Just make sure to drug him first.  Might make a better impression if he’s asleep.”  

She shot Bucky a mean look before storming off towards the door.  

Steve tried to call after her, but the door had already closed.  “Bucky, come on, why’d you go and do that for? Darcy’s a nice girl.”  

“Got a smart mouth on her,” Bucky said, shoving his hands in his pockets and trying to hide the grin that was threatening to spread on his face.  He swallowed down laughter.  Goddamn, she was perfect.    

“Yeah?  Just like someone else I know,” Steve said, making for the door. 

“I like her.  I’ll do this.  But only with her.”  

His friend turned, his mouth hanging open incredulously.  “Are you kiddin’ me?  After the way you just spoke to her?”  

Bucky shrugged.  “You got her here, Stevie.  You can get her to come back.”  

Steve snorted.  “You want her?  You go apologize.  I’ll be damned if I’m gonna be the go-between…”  He shook his head and held the door open for Bucky.  

He sighed and walked through it, grumbling to himself the whole time. He found Darcy just where he thought he would, jamming her thumb repeatedly against the elevator button.  He leaned against the wall beside her.   

“You know, they tell me that doesn’t make it come any quicker.”  

She sighed, pressing her lips together.  “What do you want?”  

“To see if you’ll marry me, maybe?”  He smirked, hoping she’d laugh.  

She didn’t.    

“No really, what do you want?”  

“D’ya want me to get down on one knee, or…? I don’t have a ring, but I do have some gum…”  He reached into his pocket.  “You like cinnamon?”    

She turned to look at him, her eyes narrow as she tried to figure him out.   The elevator dinged and the doors opened.  “I told Steve you weren’t going to go for it.  I don’t know you at all, but I figure if you did the things they said you did, you weren’t going to fall for what he was trying to pull.” 

“I knew what he was doing.  Didn’t stop me from falling for it, at any rate.”  

Hook, line and sinker.  

She huffed out a laugh.  “Why me, though?  I’m a mess.  And we’re obviously going to be snarking back and forth at each other for the foreseeable future.”     

“Who says snarking back and forth is no fun? I can see myself doing  _ this _ for foreseeable future.  I can’t see myself with a crazy bird lady or some cold agent who I have nothing in common with. If we’re gonna be stuck together, might as well be with someone who’s challenging.”

She chuckled.  “You know Agent Sisk doesn’t  _ actually  _  have a bunch of birds, right?”  

He shrugged.  “I don’t really care.  I’ve made my decision.”    

Darcy tilted her head to the side.  “I have a cat, you know.  His name’s Bowie and he’d be coming with me.”  

Bucky smiled.  “I like cats.”  

“And you have  _ got _ to shave.  We’ll have to take wedding pictures and I’m not marrying a ninety-something-year-old hobo.”

His cheeks honestly hurt, he didn’t think he’d smiled this much in years.  Decades, most likely.  “I’ll still be ninety-something-years-old if I shave.”  

“Yeah, but you won’t be a hobo…”  

“And why would we need to take wedding pictures?  Can’t they just do that on the computer or somethin’?”  

She rolled her eyes.  “They’re for my blog, to be seen by my followers.  We can’t just photoshop our heads onto stock photos, people will notice.”

“Well, we can’t have pictures with my face floating around either, people will notice you’re married to an infamous Hydra assassin,” he countered.  

“Listen, you worry about whatever it is you worry about and leave the details to the experts, Pookie.”  

He was still a little worried about possibly being noticed on this blog of hers, but the only thing he could really focus on was, “Pookie?  Does that mean you’ll do it?”    

She grinned and stuck her hand into the elevator to stop the door.  “Okay.  Yeah.  I’ll marry you.  Tell Steve I’ll do it.”    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? <3


	5. i swear upon this riverbed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EEEE, Here's an update! :D :D :D 
> 
> And it's a WEDDINGGGG! Kind of. 
> 
> It's actually just a staged photoshoot. BUT. STILL. 
> 
> It's a filler-y type of chapter...even though some new plot points get introduced towards the end...
> 
> AND omg. What's this? Is this some ANGST? Just a little bit? Did the Angst-Fairy come sprinkle her tears on my fic? It appears she DID! I stopped her before it got too wet, though. But I'm sure that will come back to bite us later. 
> 
> Oh, and since it's Chapter 5 and all, I figured I'd introduce the main antagonist and the main source of conflict. So you have THAT to look forward to at the end. 
> 
> Jack Rollins seemed like the safest bet to me? He's a minor enough character that I don't think I'll have to worry about canon stuff too much. ;) Also, I know nothing about political enemies and where they do their prison time. Or anything like that. So like...just squint at that part and move onnnnn. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to leftennant for helping me get this blocked out. <3

Everything had happened kind of fast after Bucky ‘proposed’ that day by the elevator.  

Only a week had gone by and suddenly, Darcy was stepping out of chapel in a stunning floor length white gown.  There wasn’t really anything ‘sudden’ about it other than the short time that had passed.  She’d been meeting with people all week, looking at gowns, picking out bridesmaids dresses, trying to talk Bucky into wearing a top hat.  (Which he absolutely vetoed, by the way…)  

Her dress was gorgeous, some pretty beaded thing with a mermaid skirt that was tailored to her body and made her look AMAZING.  She had a full veil and a bouquet of pink orchids.  

She’d chosen something simple for the bridesmaids, mostly out of necessity, because they needed the gowns in a hurry.  Strapless, tasteful, and so pink she wanted to puke.

The wedding guests in the background would be increased in post, since her blog posts had detailed a rather large wedding.    

There were doves, much to her chagrin, but they seemed to be pretty well trained, so there weren’t any incidents. Nothing that would have caused her to embarrass herself or have to explain her problem with birds.  

There were bubbles.  Tons of bubbles at the moment, actually.  All the “guests” were blowing them as she and Bucky walked out of the chapel.

There were photographers. So many photographers.  There had to be.  Since this faux wedding was simply for the sake of the pictures.  SHIELD had even hired friends for them both to be in the wedding party.  It was really weird.   No Jane.  No Thor.  No Steve.  Nobody she really knew except for that really rude guy who’d taken her I-pod back in New Mexico.  

Agent Coulson?  Yeah.  Good old Son-of-Coul.  He was here.    

The phrase ‘Do it for the Vine!’ kept rolling through her head with every faked precious moment. Even though Vine wasn’t even a thing anymore.   

But she had a husband? So there was that... 

He still hadn’t shaved, however...  

But she wasn’t too torn up about that, now that the day had arrived.  

He actually looked quite dashing in his tux and his beard.  And his complete makeover...  

A makeup artist had come in to work on him that day and yes, Darcy was going to call the woman an artist.  Because that was what she was.  

Her name was Gloria and she’d swooped in early that morning with a crew of no less than five people to turn ‘Bucky Barnes, wanted assassin/part-time hobo’ into ‘Jake Larson, Mechanic/Hipster’.  

Darcy still hadn’t picked her pseudonym yet, but she  _ had _ it narrowed down to Valerie or Kimberly.  She’d kind of hated all the names they’d thrown at her, but she had to pick something that could have plausibly been a name that her mother would have given her.  Assuming her mother  _ wasn’t _ an English professor obsessed with Jane Austen.  Which Darcy’s actual facts mom  _ was _ .  (Seriously.  Their family pug was named Bingley.  It was this whole  _ thing _ ).

Once Gloria got done with Bucky, he looked like...well...a completely different person. He had black hair now, with the reasoning that it’d be easier to hide the dye job than to try to keep lightening his hair to a golden blond, reminiscent of his good buddy Steve.   He was given a choppy undercut, which made him wrinkle his nose in the mirror, but Darcy had to admit, it was hot. There was no denying the hotness factor.  

Especially with the thick-framed glasses they handed him. Tortoise-shell frames that made him look two ticks shy of douchey.  

But he wasn’t douchey.  Nope.  Not. At. All.   

Of course, the  _ really _ magical thing that made Darcy believe that this woman was a Harry Potter Witch or something...was  _ The Beard _ .  Henceforth to be depicted with capital letters to denote its importance. The Beard.  

He kept his stubble from before, having put off shaving till the very last possible minute. In lieu of lathering him up in the tiny church bathroom, the magical make-up woman from heaven made it work. She made it look thicker than it was.  Thicker, bushier, and somehow...longer?  

_ Apparently _ there were beard extensions to be bought for the right price, if one was in the market for such a thing.  And  _ apparently _ , SHIELD was, because they got the top of the line beard rugs. Only the best beard rugs for their people.  The highest quality. He could get rid of the falsies once his actual facial hair grew in more.  And he had to keep it trimmed and tidy looking.  

It actually looked like more work to keep up the beard than it would be to shave it.  Let that be a lesson to him.  Procrastinate long enough and you might end up with a beard to take care of.  A pet beard with balms and conditioners and special combs.   

Anyway, Bucky looked  _ good _ .  Did she say that already?  Because he did.  Not that he didn’t look good before.  It was sort of a hot-hobo look that he had going on before...but this was...definitely more good that before.  Yes.  More good is a thing.  

Okay, so she could definitely see why he’d supposedly been popular with the ladies.  Because he was hella adorable with his hair all fixed and The Beard and his cute little tux with coattails.  

She was kind of glad there weren’t top hats now.  Because Bucky would have looked like hipster Abe Lincoln.  Hipster, muscular Abe Lincoln.  But still.

He looked good.   

And broody.  Girls went for that shit, right?  Supposedly?  

He was definitely more broody than he’d been the first time she’d met him.  Maybe it was the fake wedding, maybe it was the new hair, Darcy didn’t really know.  But Bucky was being quiet and weird and it didn’t really bode well for what they were embarking on here.

The camera flashed in front of them as they held hands outside the chapel.  Bubbles floated up around them and into the afternoon sky.

She glanced over, inadvertently squeezing his hand as they walked down the steps.  He looked up and smiled at her.  And it felt real.  At least...more real than anything else that had happened that day.  

Okay, so maybe she’d been a little somber between takes too.  It was nice to get a real smile out of him.  Because it made her grin a little.  

And that made the photographer  _ very  _ happy.  

“Finally!  Yes!  There’s one for the mantle! How’s about giving her a kiss, Hubby?”  

Bucky’s cheeks reddened as he tugged gently on her hand, pulling her into his arms.  His metal arm wrapped around her waist and the other one slid up her back.  The SHIELD photographer assured them that his hand would be photoshopped out and replaced with a more fleshy looking one.  At least for the photos.  

He was going to glove it in public otherwise.    

“Forgot to tell ya earlier...but you look...nice,” he said, his voice a raspy whisper, like he was telling her a secret or something. 

Darcy chuckled.  “Thanks…”  

“Is this always how weddings are now?  Kinda different than I remember…”  

She shrugged. “I’ve been to a few. There’s a lot more... _ anxiety _ at the real ones.”  

Laughing, he stepped a little closer, his breath hitting her face in small puffs.  “Real weddings are more stressful than the fake ones orchestrated for witness protection purposes?  Sounds like something’s missing there…”  

Her stomach fluttered when his lips touched hers. Softly…

“Do something with your arms, Wifey!”  called the photographer.  

_ Oh right...I have arms.   _

She wound them around his shoulders, surprised by how not-awkward this felt.  

And given their situation, it should feel awkward, right?  Play-acting and playing pretend wedding.  Sort of like when she used to get married on the playground in first grade. 

Except this time, there was also going to be a fake honeymoon.  (Almost, they were going to go fake a honeymoon on a soundstage.  Like the moon landing!!!  Except actually fake.  And not nearly as important.)  

The kiss deepened when she wrapped her arms around him, like it pulled them closer or something.  

All she knew was that her head tilted...and her lips parted and then Bucky stiffened up like a corpse.  

Ah.  There was the awkwardness.  Just a little late to the party.  

“Great job, guys!” called the photographer.  And Bucky’s arms dropped from her like she was burning him.  

Following suit, she swallowed thickly and started down the steps, fighting the urge to wind her arms around her waist and curl up in a ball of embarrassment.  God, he probably thought she was some kind of idiot.  

And maybe she was?  A little?  Some part of her had apparently forgotten that it wasn’t a real kiss.  And she had a few guesses as to  _ which _ part that was.  

This wasn’t real.  It was for show.  And for her blog.  

Which was somehow, still a thing?  Even though she was giving up everything else, including her name, she still had her blog. It was strange, really.  What had started as a coping mechanism was now becoming her entire life.  She used to think about how she wished she was the person she pretended to be online.  And now?  Now she was  _ going _ to be.  

According to Steve, it was a perfect cover story, and they didn’t even need to fabricate it.  It was already there.  

They were going to be moving into the house that weekend.  She’d already written a couple posts about moving.  Packing.  The best way to wrap your ceramic knick knacks.  A few humorous anecdotes about Bowie and his shenanigans with the bubble wrap and cardboard boxes.  

And then she’d be moving in with a guy who she barely knew.  A guy she was going to pretend to be in love with, a guy who was going to pretend to be in love with her...and…

And she had totally just given him a real kiss.  

What was wrong with her?  

Darcy pressed her lips together.  It was a job.  Like everything else.  She had to remember that she  _ wasn’t _ Ms. Fruitcake.  And Bucky was definitely  _ not _ Mr. Bananas.  

Because they weren’t real.  And neither was this.  

* * *

 

Jack Rollins blinked at the sunlight.  Blaringly bright in the mid afternoon.  He had to assume the sewage pipe he’d just crawled out of was facing west, given that he was fucking blind now.  

Too bad he still had his sense of smell. Because he smelled like what he’d been crawling through for the past hour.   He was almost glad for the glare of the sun, because that meant he didn’t have to look down and see all the literal SHIT covering him right now.  

He didn’t know much. He didn’t know the date.  He didn’t know what kind of world this was anymore.  But he knew he was facing west.  And there was a small town to the west.  And his ass wasn’t going anywhere near it.  His ass or the rest of him. 

Not reeking of sewage and inexplicably close to a maximum security prison.  That was a one way ticket back to Fuck-Town.  Where the mayor hated your guts and so did everyone else.  

There was a tree line to the north.  With any luck, there’d be a creek there where he could wash his clothes.  

So that’s where he’d start.  

He had to figure out where in the fuck he was.  

There was this little pesky thing about being a political prisoner...you didn’t get a say in what happened to you.  You didn’t get a lawyer.  You didn’t get a jury.  You got thrown blindfolded into a fucking max security prison and conked over the head with a billy club until you didn’t know your ass from your elbow.  You’d wake up later with a headache and your arm in the toilet and you’d have to figure it out from there.

You didn’t get regular meals and you sure as hell didn’t get visitors.  

His stomach clenched like it did every time he thought about Lauren.  Lauren and Grayson.  He hadn’t seen them in so long.  Again, Jack didn’t know HOW long, but he knew it had been a while.  Months, definitely.  Years?  Possibly.  

He had to start walking.  Because every step he took was a step closer to Lauren.  To Grayson. He wasn’t sure what kind of life they’d have now that he was a fugitive, but they would figure it out.  

And then, once he got his wife and son safely out of harm’s way?  He was going to go after  _ him. _

Because this was all  _ his _ fault

Steve Fucking Rogers.  And his glorious band of dumb asses.  

Jack had just been following orders.  How in the hell was he the one in prison when that freak of nature walked free?  

He’d lost a big chunk of his life.  And he wasn’t about to sit back and let the people responsible get off scot-free.  No sir.    

The wind shifted and the stench on his clothing wafted up into his face.  He grimaced and trudged forward.  First things first.  

This shit needed to go.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, by the way. I have a little thing set up on Google Forms...just in case you wanted to weigh in on Darcy's name. Valerie or Kimberly? You can vote [here](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSeWGpNy71E5F7pLOGJLFmkDW1t8RNs5sXLtBOBZHa103p41BA/viewform?usp=sf_link), mostly because I have no idea and no preference either way, and I thought it'd be fun to have a vote! <3 
> 
> I'll take this link down when I post chapter 6. <3


	6. i'll help you feel young again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whew. 
> 
> I wrote and deleted so many versions of this chapter, you guys. I'm so intimidated by the response to this fic, i only want to give y'all the best. Because y'all deserve it! <3 <3 <3 
> 
> I hope you like this. <3 Still as slow burny as ever, I'm afraid. But with now with significantly less angst! Hooray! <3 
> 
> Also, as you will see in the chapter below, Valerie was the winner for Darcy's fake name. <3 169 of you voted, and 130 picked Valerie. So Valerie Larson it is! <3 
> 
> Also also, I fiddled with all the chapter titles, decided to go with lyrics from 'The Minnow & The Trout' by A Fine Frenzy. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also also also, Leftennant deserves a huge hug and all the praise for beta reading the fourth version of this chapter, which very quickly became what I am posting today, thanks to a few of her lovely comments. 
> 
> So THANK YOU, LEFTY. You're amazing. <3 Thank you for listening to my whining. (And oh BOY, it was whining).

Bucky dropped the cardboard box on the floor in front of the fireplace.  It landed on the throw rug with a loud crash.  So much for it being labeled throw pillows…

The cat meowed from its perch on the back of one of the loveseats.  Apparently he didn’t approve of all the noise Bucky was making.  He glanced up at the cat, narrowing his eyes slightly.  “Calm down.  I didn’t do it on purpose. Furball.”  

Bowie seemed to understand.  Or maybe he’d just stopped caring.  He walked to the other end of the sofa, leaping down on the floor, making a tiny squeak as he hit.  He pranced out to the kitchen without another look in Bucky’s direction.  

He squinted down at the top of the box again, trying to ascertain if he’d just misread it.  

Nope.  Throw pillows.  

Flipping open the lid revealed a box of mostly pots and pans.  

Unless pots and pans were throw pillows, he’d say the box was mislabeled…

And it certainly wasn’t  _ he _ who had done the labeling. And he wasn’t one to point fingers, but Bowie was innocent in this too.  Which only left one other person.  Who had  _ insisted _ on doing all the packing herself despite his offer to help.  

It was moving day.  And it was giving him more heartburn and indigestion than even a normal moving day would.  Mostly because he hadn’t spoken to his ‘wife’ since that ill-fated kiss at their faux-wedding earlier in the week.  

He felt kind of stupid for freezing up like that, but she’d  _ really _ gotten into it.  With the head tilting and the lip parting...it almost felt  _ real _ .  And then he’d forgotten it wasn’t.  And then remembered again.  Which resulted in the big freeze.  

The big freeze that he hadn’t really been able to recover from. Hadn’t been able to look her in the eye.  Out of all the dumb things he thought were going to happen during this ordeal...him falling for his ‘wife’ wasn’t one of them.  

But he hadn’t  _ really _ fallen for her.  At least, that’s what he was telling himself.  

Even  _ he _ knew that was a load of bullshit.  He couldn’t stop thinking about how her lips felt.  

Soft.  Warm.  Pliant.  How she’d leaned into his body.  Pressing herself fully against him.  How  _ good _ she smelled.  

How amazing she looked in that dress... she’d almost taken his breath away.  

Those...those were thoughts that weren’t gonna do him any good.  Nothing good at all could come from thoughts like these.  

With a sigh, he straightened his back and looked around the living room, deciding instead to focus on the house. .  

The house.

It was cute.  ‘Cozy.’  

That meant it was small, by the way.   _ Cute _ and  _ cozy _ were nice ways of saying  _ small _ .  And while he wasn’t opposed to the idea of a small home, it was a  _ six room house _ .  

Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, dining room, living room and office.  Not many places to hide from his ‘wife’ once they had the door closed and the shades drawn.  It was going to be  _ him _ and  _ her _ in  _ here _ .  

Alone.  

Together.  

Christ, there was only one bed.  One queen sized bed.  Big enough for two, but not for two who didn’t want appendages brushing in the middle of the night.  

They hadn’t discussed the sleeping arrangements, obviously.  But he couldn’t imagine an outcome of that conversation that resulted in both of them getting to use the comfortable bed.  

Definitely not after the shoddy job he’d done at the wedding.  

He was doomed to one of those tiny little loveseats the movers had brought in.  

Doomed, doomed, doomed.  

There were two of them.  Who on earth thought that two LOVESEATS were necessary in a house with only two occupants, first off?  

It was stupid, was what it was.  They were literally  _ identical _ pieces of furniture and he was going to have to cram his six-foot frame onto one of those tiny little things.  He could just feel his shoulders clenching up.  

Bucky looked down at the box of pots and pans at his feet.  The ‘throw pillows’ label was still visible.  He smirked, an idea coming to him that would either make things worse or break the ice.  

He bent down, grabbing a three quart saucepan and a cast iron skillet.  He placed one on either end of the loveseat, stepping back to admire his handiwork.  

He heard footsteps approaching behind him.  “Heya…you...uh...busy here?” Darcy’s voice cracked a little, probably from disuse, seeing as they hadn’t spoken a word on the car ride up here from the city.   

They were upstate.  They’d passed signs for Saratoga Springs, Albany and Schenectady.  The house was on a cul de sac full of similar homes. Starter homes.  For newlyweds and families with no children.  

According to Steve, there would be one contact home where the occupants would know Bucky and know Darcy and know what their story was.  The rest of the homes were either filled with SHIELD agents who simply knew them as a couple who needed protecting, or with SHIELD adjacent people who lived in this neighborhood all the time.  Apparently the house they were living in had been inhabited by several other SHIELD witness protection candidates.  

It was a simple plan, really.  The fewer people who knew, the fewer people who could squeal.  

Of course, that meant that they’d have to play it up in front of the neighbors.  Because as far as they knew, Bucky and Darcy (or Jake and Valerie Larson, as their shiny new sets of identification paperwork read), were a married couple with info.  Or details.  Or whatever, it didn’t matter.  

They were here to be kept safe.  They were persons of importance, clearly, to warrant this kind of surveillance.  

“You like it?” he asked, gesturing to the sofa.  “I feel like it’s missing something…”  

Darcy stood beside him, shifting her weight onto her hip as she contemplated the skillet and three-quarter on the couch.  

“Maybe add...the lid...and the cornbread pan?” she suggested, bending slightly at the waist to rummage through the box on the floor.  She placed the cornbread pan in the middle and set the lid on the saucepan.  

She stepped back beside him again.  “Eh?”  

“Yep.  That was it.  It’s perfect now.”  Bucky nodded, turning to look down at her.  Almost hoping she’d ask him what the hell he was doing.  

But she didn’t, she just glossed right over his horrible attempt at both comedy and interior decorating.  

“Jake…” she said slowly, raising her eyebrows because evidently, the name still didn’t feel right.  He knew the feeling.  He’d only known Darcy for a couple weeks, but it was already next to impossible to think of her as someone else.  As Valerie.  “Some of the neighbors wanted to meet us...you wanna come out and make nice while the movers get the rest of this done?”  

He inhaled and nodded, taking her outstretched hand and composing himself enough to try and play the part of devoted newlywed husband.  

Her fingers closed around his, squeaking slightly on his leather driving gloves.

Oh yeah.  He had gloves on.  

Part of the ruse to cover up his arm.  If push came to shove, they’d explain it away as a work injury gone awry.  It was one of the reasons having a neighborhood full of agents would come in handy, according to Steve.  As long as they didn’t see Bucky’s cybernetic arm, it wouldn’t be a big deal to explain it away.  

“Any special reason you’re decorating the couch with my pots and pans?” She asked, tugging him out the door.  

“Nah...just figured that’s where you wanted them…”  he said, grinning widely when she caught his eye.

A dimple appeared in her cheek and then promptly disappeared when she pressed her lips together.  “Issue on pause, we’ll come back to the sofa pots at a later time…” she said with a smirk as she started down the driveway.  

He caught sight of himself in the reflection of a car window as they passed and nearly jumped back.  He still wasn’t used to the haircut.  

Or all the product he had to slop into it daily.  Not to mention the beard balms and shit.  

He couldn’t believe he used something called a balm.  Daily.  For facial hair.  

He also had conditioner.  And oil.  And a comb.  

Electric trimmers to keep things tidy.  And dye to keep it black.  

And for the better part of the next few months, he had falsies.  

Any haircut or facial hair decision that required a tutorial wasn’t really something Bucky Barnes needed in his life.  

But here he was.  Taking forty-five minutes to get ready in the morning.  

Darcy’s fingers tightened around his hand and she tugged him along down the driveway to talk to a couple already standing at the end of it.  

Nick and Barbara, they said as they introduced themselves.  A blonde woman and a brown-haired man.  She smiled too wide, he laughed too much.  These people weren’t agents, according to the dockets they’d gotten earlier in the week.  Just a man who worked as a mole for Roxxon and his wife, who didn’t even know that was where her husband went everyday.  

Darcy hadn’t really looked like she was okay with knowing this much about their then-future neighbors, but it was all part of the job. Bucky had to admit, it was strange knowing more about Nick than Barbara did.   

“We live right over there...across the street…” Barbara pointed to a blue-shuttered home.  White siding and a red door.  “I sell essential oils and he’s in publishing.”

_ Publishing, huh?  Just gonna gloss right over that.   _

“Essential oils, huh?”  Bucky asked.  “There...uh...much business in that?”  

Darcy squeezed his hand a little more tightly as Barbara started in on  _ exactly _ how much business was in that.  

Nick stopped her about halfway through her list of inventory, right after Clary Sage and Patchouli to ask Bucky (Jake) what he did for a living.  

Bucky ran his hand up the side of his head, standing a little closer to Darcy.  “I worked in a garage in Brooklyn, but uh...we wanted to get out of the city, so I’m kinda...between jobs right now.”  

“Commercial or city garage?” Nick asked, shifting his weight a little.  

“Commercial…” Bucky answered.  “We came up here for Val…” he turned to gaze lovingly at her.  “She’s the real breadwinner.  With that blog of hers.”  

“You blog?!”  Barbara asked, her eyebrows shooting up.  “Maybe I’ve heard of you, I follow a few different blogs online and I even started one of my own for my oils and--”  

“Ummm yeah...it’s Fruitcake and Bananas....”  Darcy (Val) said, smiling.  She sort of shrunk in on herself when she spoke, like she was embarrassed or something. 

“Oh my god, no way.  NO WAY!”  Barbara grinned widely.  “No way you are Ms. Fruitcake!  I made your black bean tacos for dinner last week!  Nick LOVED them!” she turned towards Nick.  “Didn’t you, hon?  You loved those tacos!”  

Nick shrugged.  “They were good.  Could have used more meat, though.”  

Darcy pressed her lips together and smiled tightly.  “Yeah...they were  _ vegetarian _ ...part of my Meatless Mondays thing…”  

“And that would make you...Mr. Bananas?”  Barbara deduced, turning towards Bucky..  

Bucky smirked and shrugged again.  “Yep.  That’s me. Mr. Bananas.”  

“Adorable!”  Barbara said with a grin.  “Obvi, I won’t tell anyone you’re here…” she winked and swiped her thumb over the tip of her nose.  “Mum’s the word.”  

Nick came to the rescue, laying his hand gently on her arm. “Let’s go, Barb.  We need to get everything ready for the barbeque.”  

“Oh RIGHT.  The barbeque!  You two are invited, of course.  That’s actually why we came by.  To invite you to the barbeque.  We figured you might be tired and stuff.  So you can come on by and eat at our place tonight!”  Barbara looked between them excitedly. 

“That sounds great...what time does it start?” Darcy asked.  

It was Bucky’s turn to squeeze Darcy’s hand.  No way in hell he wanted to hang out with these people.  Or get roped into social events either.  

“Seven. And don’t bring a thing but yourselves,” was the gleeful response.  

They walked back up the driveway, hand in hand.  Darcy even hip checked him as they stepped up on the porch.  “We can leave early.”  

“Thank you, doll, that’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”  

She dropped his hand inside the house and it instantly felt colder without her beside him.  But he tried not to think about that too much.  Another one of those thoughts that wouldn’t do him any good. 

Instead, he busied himself with the rest of the ‘throw pillows’.  Darcy seemed to have forgotten his pet project, at least for the time being.  

She seemed pretty...dazed after their encounter with Nick and Barbara.  He wondered if it was because of him, or because of Barbara’s slightly obnoxious squealing over her blog.  

It was a little bit strange to see someone who recognized Darcy from her blog.  But now that he thought about it, in order for it to be as successful as Steve said it was, people would have to be reading it.  

* * *

 

The barbeque went fairly well.  They met most of the rest of the neighbors, which Bucky found overwhelming, but Darcy seemed to find downright exhausting.  

She was hanging on his arm by seven-thirty.  

There was only one couple of interest who introduced themselves.  Leon and Christopher Leecock.  Also known as Dr. Leo Fitz and Cameron Klein.  

Also also known as, their SHIELD contacts.  

They invited them over for lunch that weekend, after they got ‘settled’.  

Settled.  That sounded as foreign a concept as any.  

He (Jake) begged out around nine-ish, wrapping his arm around Darcy’s (Val’s) waist and guiding her down the driveway and back towards their home. 

As they approached their now empty house, he could feel more trepidation than before.  He felt her body tense and her breath quicken as they drew closer to the door.  

He unlocked it and they stepped into the dark living room.  It swung shut behind them and she reached for the light switch, illuminating the room and all the cardboard boxes and strange furniture.  

Including the pot pillows.

She exhaled loudly, likely hiding a giggle.  “Oh right.  The pots…”  She folded her arms over her middle. “I don’t get it, Barnes.  I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon.  Is this some old man humor, or something?”  

He snorted.  “No.  It’s the throw pillows.”  

Darcy frowned.  “The what?”  

He nudged the box with his foot.  “See?  They’re labeled as throw pillows.  I was just helping you by putting them on the sofas.”  He jammed his hands in his pockets and smirked over at her, rocking back on his heels.  

She grinned widely, those dimples popping again as she shook her head.  “You...you are a riot.  That’s what you are.”  

“I mean, they’re a  _ little _ unconventional.  But what do I know?  I’m not the famous blogger or anything. I’m just some old fugitive with a shiny new haircut.”  

“And a beard rug,” she added.  

“And a beard rug,” he repeated, chuckling.  

Biting her bottom lip to stifle a chuckle, she reached over to start placing them back in the box.  “I have to say, this has got to be on you somehow.  You carried the box in and couldn’t be bothered to notice how heavy the ‘throw pillows’ were.”  

He shrugged.  “That was nothing.  The difficult part was getting the ‘pots and pans’ to fit in the cabinets.  There were a lot of them.  And they’re abnormally fluffy. Really lightweight and easy to carry, though.”  

“Yeah, yeah...it’s hard keeping that chenille one seasoned, but I think the eggs are so good, it’s worth it.”  

He stooped to hoist the box into his arms, noting the way her gaze flitted down to his arms.  “I’ll just...uh...carry these into the kitchen for you…”  She followed him in, watching him set the box down on the floor and straightening again.  

“So...uh...do you want the bed?” he asked, turning to face her.   

“We could...trade off?” Darcy said after a long silence.  “You can take it tonight and I’ll take it tomorrow?”  

And run the risk of smelling her on the sheets?  On the blankets? No.  Just...no.  That sounded like even more not-good thoughts.  

“I’ll just take the sofa,” he said bluntly, walking back towards it and sitting down.  “Which box are the blankets in?”  

“They’re all in the linen closet already…” she said wearily, her gaze flitting from him to the bedroom door.  “I’ll go get them.”  

She was gone for a few minutes.  And he could hear the muffled sounds of her rummaging through the closet off their bathroom.  While he’d been supervising the movers, she’d been unpacking linens and towels.  Toiletries.  Clothes.  Putting it all away in the bedroom they were expected to share.  

But it wasn’t shared.  It was hers.  

Hers, with some of his stuff in it.  

And he had  _ this _ .  He eyed the loveseat, thinking that possibly the floor might be a better bet.  

She returned with two blankets and two pillows, which she dumped unceremoniously on the opposite end of the small sofa.  “You know...I should have made you sleep on the pans...that ten-inch cast iron looked cozy.”  

He snorted out a sound that was supposed to be a laugh, but it ended up just sounded awkward as fuck.

Breezing out to the kitchen, she returned holding bottle of water and walked back to the bedroom.  “Good night…” she said softly, her hand on the door.  She smiled back at him, practically lighting up the room with a slight quirk of her mouth.

“Good night,” he returned as the door to the bedroom shut.  

Bucky took a deep breath and looked around the room. 

Bowie leapt up on the arm of the loveseat, stepping directly into the middle of the pile of pillows and taking a seat.  He meowed quietly and began to clean himself. 

_ It’s going to be indefinite.   _ He heard Steve’s voice in his ears.  One of the last things he’d said.   _ “It’s going to be indefinite, Buck.  Try to fix whatever it is you screwed up at the wedding?”   _

Whatever it was that he’d done today, he needed to do more of it.  Because while it might not be a thought that did him any good, he really liked seeing her smile.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also...I have plans for Barb. I know she's kind of obnoxious, but I have plans. <3 
> 
> Also...totally give me some love if you liked this. ;) I worked. I WORKED on this. <3 I really hope y'all like it! <3


	7. not your everyday circumstance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHH, it's been so long, but I'm finally back! 
> 
> Please take this chapter of cutes with a slightly angst-ridden ending as my apology!
> 
> Also my hand-wavey explanation of what they did with Bucky's prosthetic. I realized that it would be visible and it wouldn't make much sense for him to wear gloves inside the house, so I fixed the problem as best as I could. Using that stuff that Nat wore in the Winter Soldier to pose as that council member lady? 
> 
> ANYWHO, it's not a full time fix, but I thought it might be good to camoflauge his arm since it's very recognizable and they're supposed to be in witness protection. The only time he'll be wearing it is for this chapter, so don't worry about me trying to erase his disability. I hope it doesn't offend anyone, as that is totally not my intention. I just figured that since the Magazine crew weren't SHIELD agents (even though they've likely been vetted without their knowledge), it would be better if they knew less than more. ;) 
> 
> ENJOY the update! And enjoy these four OCs I created. They're all very... interesting. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who continued to read and review this fic during my hiatus. Thank you for everyone who stuck around to wait for me to pull myself together. You are superstars and I love you.

Darcy woke up before her alarm that morning.  Which was saying something, considering that she’d barely slept the night before.  

She was nervous.   _ And _ excited.  Maybe a little bit of both? 

Today was the day.  _ Situation _ was coming over with a crew of people. And they were going to do a photoshoot.   And an interview.  With  _ her _ .  

She was so awkward.  Blob  _ Almighty _ , was she awkward.  She hoped she could fake her way through it.  Through the photoshoot with Bucky and then through the interview afterwards.  

They’d gone over talking points.  They’d even done a mock interview with Cameron and Fitz.  

Cameron and Fitz were their honest-to-god actual SHIELD handlers and they were so awesome.  They argued like an old married couple and Fitz was all grumpy and Scottish.  

The mock interview had gone alright, but the real thing wouldn’t include Cameron nudging her towards topics that she’d rather not bring up.  

Like children.  Children were not a thing she wanted to talk about, mostly because the way you got kids was… was an  _ activity _ that she hadn’t taken part in for a long, long time, and she was going to be interviewed by people who  _ thought _ she was taking part in  _ that activity _ with the amazing specimen with whom she was sharing a house and a last name. They thought they were engaging in a  _ lot _ of that particular activity, as newlyweds tended to, and when she thought about  _ that _ , she got all twitchy and weird.  

And when she got all twitchy and weird, Bucky tried to overcompensate by putting his arm around her and that wasn’t helping at  _ all,  _ thank you sir.

Not that she didn’t  _ like _ it when he put his arm around her, but he was so warm, and…  _ and _ …

She took a deep breath and sat up in bed.  She had that groggy feeling in the back of her mind, that one that you felt as a college kid after you pulled an all-nighter, but that got consistently harder to ignore the older you got?

Yeah.  

Coffee might help.  

She tugged her droopy lounge socks back up over her calves and got out of bed.  Padding across the freezing-cold hardwood floor, she opened the bedroom door to peek out into the living room.  

Bucky’s feet were still propped up on the arm of the loveseat, so it was unlikely that he was awake yet.  If he was awake, he’d be at least sitting up.  Or he’d be flipping through Netflix on the T.V.  He  _ loved _ Netflix. Dude would sit there and watch  _ everything.   _ Which totally made sense, if Darcy thought about it.  He’d missed a literal fuckton of pop culture and Netflix was as good a way as any to catch up.

But she digressed.  He wasn’t awake.  He was still snoozing when she passed the loveseat.

Tip-toeing out to the kitchen became an almost impossible task once Bowie realized she was awake and jumped from his usual sleeping spot on the scant few inches of couch cushion that Bucky wasn’t monopolizing.  

Bowie’s little feet hit the floor and he made that cute cat noise.  The little blip of a meow as he landed.  He pranced over, winding himself between her legs as she tried to make her way to the other room without waking Bucky.  

Once there, she fed Bowie, if only to get him out from underfoot while she made the coffee.

Grinding the coffee beans the night before had been a good idea. She’d been thinking ahead for once, knowing she would need a little caffeine boost this morning.  

She glanced around the kitchen.  It was immaculate.  Bucky had teased her the day before for walking behind him with a damp rag to swipe the crumbs off the counter practically before they’d even hit, but honestly, over her dead body were there going to be crumbs on her counter when  _ Situation _ came to photograph it.  

The difference between the photos she posted to her blog and this actual legit photoshoot was that she staged the FUCK out of those photos on her blog.  The entire kitchen could be a wreck, but that little three foot square area that she was photographing was as clean as a whistle. 

Since someone was coming to photograph anything and everything… well… it  _ all  _ had to be as clean as a whistle.  

And Bucky had helped, bless him.  He’d vacuumed the rugs, he’d mopped the floors.  He’d even fixed the leaky faucet in the bathroom. The guy was actually kind of handy around the house, but she supposed that was par for the course as well.  He had probably fixed tons of stuff back… before the war. 

Oh geez, this was such an odd predicament.  She was sharing a house with a World War II veteran and he was taking up half of the bathroom vanity with all of his hipster beard products.  She made breakfast and he fixed the sink.  It was so domestic and then again, it wasn’t.  There was this veil of  _ fake _ over the whole thing that marred her perception.

Darcy poured water into the coffee maker, pressing the button to start it brewing and swiping a rag over the counter to collect the stray coffee grounds.  Pulling out two mugs from the cabinet, she placed them on the countertop.  

No sooner had the first few drips of coffee trickled down into the carafe than the floorboards squeaked out in the living room; they were no match for Bucky’s barefoot, heavy gait.  He’d probably been awake since Bowie jumped onto the floor, now that she was thinking about it.  Bucky had crazy good hearing.  He could hear her sneeze in the bathroom through two closed doors.  Which made her hella paranoid about what  _ else _ he could hear through two closed doors.  

So she ran the faucet every time she was in the bathroom now.  Just to be safe. 

Bucky shuffled out into the kitchen, blinking slightly at her.  She probably made a funny picture, exhausted as hell and staring at the coffee maker, willing the coffee to come faster.  

“Rough night?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.  

She shrugged.  “No rougher than usual.”  

“Sorry to hear that…” he said.  “I’mma go use the facilities if you’re gonna be out here for a minute.”  

She cracked a small smile, waving her hand.  “Be my guest.  I’ll stand guard out here, make sure the coffee maker doesn’t slack off.”  

“Yeah?  Well.  Make sure you do, that thing’s always looking for an opportunity to skimp on the job.” 

The coffee pot finished while the shower was still running.  So she poured herself a cup and waited, stirring it slightly with a spoon after she’d added the half-and-half. The swirl was hypnotizing.  

She was sipping lightly at her cup when Bucky appeared in the doorway, dressed for the most part in the clothing she’d picked out for him the day before.  He had his cuffs unbuttoned and unrolled on the shirt, and it was untucked from the pants.  

But he still looked good.  Damn good.   _ Too _ good.  That was just her opinion, though.  

“I poured you some…” She gestured towards the other cup across from her.  “One spoon of sugar, right?”  

“Right…” he sat down across from her and stirred it a little before taking a sip.  He sighed, the contentment oozing from every part of his exhale.  “How do you make  _ coffee _ better than I do? It’s beans and hot water, right?”

“I grind up fresh nutmeg with them,” she confessed.  “A little extra, I know. But it makes coffee taste more coffee-y”  

“Nutmeg, huh? I learn somethin’ new everyday from you, doll.”  

‘Doll’ was something he called her when they were around the neighbors.  Pretending to be newlyweds.  He’d say it before he kissed her forehead, snaking his arm around her waist.  It made all the women swoon and the men roll their eyes.  It was especially effective with that Brooklyn accent of his.   

Of course, lately, it had been popping up more and more in their private conversations, and Darcy was almost embarrassed to say that she liked it.  

“Yeah, well.  I try,” she replied, attempting to keep the conversation going because when they stopped talking, things got weird  _ fast _ .  

“It looks…  _ amazing _ in here, Darcy.”  Bucky took a wide sweeping look of the room and nodded. “Honest.  It looks a billion times better than it did when we moved in.”  

A blush crept up her cheeks and she hid it by taking a big sip of her coffee.  

“I mean it.  We’re gonna do great today.  _ Val _ .”

“Aww, thanks, Jakers,” she smirked, her tone verging on saccharine.  “We’re gonna crush it, babe.”  

“And that’s a good thing, right?”          

* * *

 

The photo crew from the magazine arrived early.  There was one photographer and his two assistants.  He had one assistant to bring him drinks and another to lug around the equipment.  A makeup artist was also on hand to make Val and Jake look as flawless as possible for the camera.  

The interview would come later that afternoon, well after the photo crew had gone. The editor of the magazine, who was actually going to do Darcy’s… or  _ Valerie’s _ , face-to-face interview, was very excited to be finally meeting Valerie in the flesh.  She was apparently a  _ huge _ fan.

Bucky’s  _ arm _ , which would have most definitely been a focal point if it was spotted, was cleverly hidden with a special glove that Steve had sent along through Cameron and Fitz.  

The Black Widow used a face mask made of similar material to pose as literally anyone.  This particular fabric was full of tiny transmitters that worked to camouflage Bucky’s arm as skin.  

It was about as thin as pantyhose, and only went up to the middle of his bicep, so there couldn’t be any shirtless poses, unfortunately.  But he could definitely wear it under the flannel button up Darcy had picked out for him to wear.  

He’d slid it on after breakfast, activating the tiny diode in the wrist to turn on the camo.  It was bizarre, how real it looked.  It even mimicked hair and freckles to make it look  _ almost _ like his other hand.  Almost, but just different enough to be believable.

It was lucky that Bucky mostly used his right hand for everything, though.  Because that arm  felt  _ weird _ if you touched it.  Like his cybernetic arm, but  _ not _ . 

But for aesthetic purposes and for NOT getting recognized due to his very easy to recognize one-of-a-kind prosthetic made in Wakanda, it definitely had its use.

None of the photography crew was any the wiser.    

The make up artist didn’t take long, just touching up what Darcy had already done on her face and applying a bit more powder here and there.  

Bucky took a bit longer than Darcy, but both of them were picture ready in less than an hour.  Well before Dan the photographer was finished setting up his equipment.  

Dan the photographer.  Darcy almost giggled when he introduced himself, because he definitely didn’t seem like a  _ Dan _ .  

Or maybe it just was that every other Dan she’d ever meant hadn’t measured up to  _ this _ Dan.  

Whichever it was, this Dan -- Dan the photographer -- was very loud and  _ very _ pushy.  His personal assistant looked like she was just a few dozen salt water icicles in a trenchcoat, and his equipment setter-upper-guy was wearing a shirt that boasted about his how ‘his balls had muscles and his muscles had balls’, however that worked.

The three of them looked like they could be the cast of a reality TV show.  

“Okay, while Diego gets the lights set up in here, I want to go capture that natural light outside…”  Dan walked towards the back door, pausing in front of it.  “With you two, preferably,” he directed towards Darcy and Bucky. He then turned his head to yell into the house.  “Deirdre! Get my water.”  He walked out the back door and Darcy shot Bucky an amused look.  

Bucky slipped his hand into hers and pulled her along behind him.  

Diego, Deirdre and Dan.  You really couldn’t make this up.  

“Go stand in front of these bushes here… this picket fence is  _ adorable _ …”

‘Val’ and ‘Jake’ went to stand in front of the bushes and Dan came over to pose them.  He snapped a few closeups while he was there.  

“You two are the least annoying newlyweds I’ve ever met,” he said slowly, arching an eyebrow.  “You two have a fight? Did you make him sleep on the couch, Valerie?”  

“No?” Darcy nearly choked.  

“So sidle up to your hubby and try and look happy…”  Dan replied.   

It was of course at that moment that a flock of birds thought it’d be cool to all hang out on the powerlines in front of the house.  

So Darcy had to sit there, pretending to be a happy newlywed with no weird phobias about flocks of birds, while a flock of birds literally landed in her front yard.  

Bucky, being the astute noticer of all things odd that he was, noticed her decidedly odd reaction and followed her gaze as she watched the last of the black birds fly across the sky.  

He leaned in, wrapping both arms around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder. Turning, he pressed a ragged kiss to her jaw.  “Just relax.  It’ll all be over soon.”  

She gulped and closed her eyes, focusing on his words. On the solid feel of him pressed against the back of her.  He was so  _ warm _ .  Was that something she already knew?  Was that supposed to be so surprising?  He was warm.  And he smelled like coffee and the soap he used in the shower. 

Darcy usually saw it sitting there. It was white.  The one that was supposed to float in the tub.  

Ivory.    

“Hey, I’m here.  It’ll be okay, doll.”  He punctuated by nuzzling her neck.  Which everyone knew was her ticklish spot.  Or at least…  _ now _ everyone knew was her ticklish spot.  Because she giggled, squirming against him.  So he did it again.  

And then Dan snapped pictures of it.  “ _ Adorable _ .  See, was that so hard? C’mon, let’s get a few out in the front yard.”  

* * *

 

Kassie Kristoph, the editor of  _ Situation _ , was about thirty minutes late to her scheduled interview.  

But she made up for it in complete and utter rudeness, so it was all cool.  

Darcy had prepared some snacks ahead of time, so after the greetings and introductions took place, Bucky (or ‘Jake’ as she really needed to start thinking about him if she was going to remember his fake name at  _ all)  _ offered to go get them from the kitchen.

Kassie’s eyes followed his exit in a way that Darcy didn’t particularly care for.  They followed his ass in a way that  _ Valerie _ didn’t like at all.  

“You are a lucky, lucky woman to get all of  _ that _ to yourself…” she said, exhaling and fanning herself as she reached into her bag for her phone.  “He fixes cars too?  How on earth did you get so lucky, Ms. Larson?”  

“Missus,” Darcy corrected her, smiling sweetly.  “And you know… I…”  

“I’m the lucky one, Ms. Kristoph,” Bucky answered for her from the doorway. He had a look on his face of pure innocence, but Darcy knew better.  He’d heard the whole thing from the kitchen with his super soldier hearing. He sidled in with a tray of homemade hummus with sliced vegetables in one hand and a pitcher of mint lemonade in the other.  “So to answer your question? I just went for it.”  

Kassie smiled widely, not taking her eyes off Bucky’s face for a second.  “ _ You _ initiated the relationship?” 

Darcy almost snorted indignantly.  Hello?  She was right here.  And excuse Ms. Kassie Kristoph, but Valerie Nicole Larson was a catch and a half.  She had curves for days and made better pies than  _ anyone’s _ mom.  

“Yep, had to.  She was too shy…”  He grinned in Darcy’s direction and reached over to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.  “Tell her the story, D-oll, I’ll get out of your hair.”

He’d almost messed up and said ‘Darcy’.  She bit down on her bottom lip to keep from laughing.  That goofball.  She sent him a grin in return as he walked back towards the kitchen.  He bent to scoop up Bowie on his way, talking to the cat in hushed tones as he retreated.  Kassie reached for a cucumber slice and he took the opportunity to wiggle his hips in an overtly suggestive way when her back was turned.  

Darcy pressed her lips together even harder and reached for one of the glasses he’d brought out with the tray, pouring herself a glass of lemonade.

“So, Valerie… or is it Val?” Kassie asked, pulling out her phone and hitting the record button.  

“Val’s fine,” Darcy said with a smile.  

“Tell me.  How  _ do _ you run such a successful blog?”  

She laughed a little. The straight forwardness of the question was obviously ironic.  Intentional.  But it was also so very cheesey.  “Well, it all started out as kind of a therapeutic thing…I blogged about my day, and people started…  _ responding _ .”  

“You have such an engaging way of writing, I think it really feels like we know  _ you _ , it’s like we have a friend, and we’re hearing about her day.”  

Darcy felt a stab of guilt in her gut at the compliment. Especially when she thought about how she was lying out of her ass. 

Except it was necessary to maintain the façade. Especially now that lives depended on it.  “Well, you know… I suppose that’s part of it…” She was a master at bullshitting, she had a poly-sci degree after all, she could totally do this.  “It felt that way for me too.  I had friends to vent to who weren’t sick of hearing it.”  

“And somehow, that’s turned into the successful  _ brand _ that you have now.”  Kassie smiled kindly.  “I think pretty much every millennial as at least  _ heard _ of Fruitcake and Bananas.  

“Well, I mean… I’m no Pioneer Woman or anything… but I’m certainly glad people can find something useful in all of my chaos.”  

“Was that Bowie I saw with your husband?”  Kassie asked, turning around once more.  

“Yes, that  _ was _ Bowie… “  

“How’s he liking it out here?”  

“Well, he left a mouse on the back porch for us, so I think he’s adjusting to the burbs,” Darcy said, smirking a little at the memory.  

“Do you think… do you think I could pet him?”  

Darcy raised her eyebrows.  She mean the  _ cat _ , right?.  “Sure… I’ll go find him… he’s probably with Jake…”  

“I’ll come along…” Kassie very nearly upended the coffee table in her haste to beat Darcy out of the room and into the kitchen.  

She sighed heavily, muttering under her breath. “Cripes, Kassie Kristoph, your thirst is showing…” 

* * *

 

Darcy was more than relieved to see Kassie Kristoph’s pretentious little smart car backing down the driveway as she and Bucky waved goodbye.  

“Relax your shoulders, your wave is jerky,” Bucky muttered through his frozen smile.  

“I can’t help it, she was  _ flirting _ with you.”

He chuckled, smiling for real as the little silver vehicle drove away.  “Are you  _ jealous _ , Ms. Larson?”  

“It’s Missus.  At least, that’s what I told the homewrecker…”  

He laughed and wrapped his arm around her waist, tugging her inside the house.  

“And this  _ isn’t _ funny,” Darcy continued.  “For all she knew, we were happily married.  We are NEWLYWEDS, and she was  _ flirting _ with you.”  

He was still laughing though. “It’s a little bit funny…”  

“It’s not funny at  _ all _ …”  

“I guess that’s why you were marking your territory earlier…”  Bucky teased, the fingers on his right hand tickling her all the way down to her wrist before he slid his hand into hers.  “I don’t think you’ve touched me that much in the entirety of our ‘marriage’,  _ Val _ .”  

“She was staring at your ass,  _ Jake _ .”

He shrugged.  “I guess it’s a nice ass, what can I say? You also picked out the ass-huggingist jeans for me to wear today… I told ya they were too tight.”  

She grumbled under her breath.  “That’s what’s in style right now… doesn’t mean she needs to stare at your ass.”  

He smirked and brought her hand up to his lips.  A gesture that felt almost normal until they both simultaneously realized that there was no one to perform for and froze.  

His eyes searched hers for a long moment and slowly pressed his lips against her knuckles.  

She gulped at the feel of his lips, the way he lingered after the kiss, the way his pouty bottom lip dragged against her skin before he moved away, her hand still in his.  

“I…” she stammered, tearing her gaze away from his.  “I need to put the hummus in the fridge. I don’t want it to go bad…”  

“Right…” he said, his voice was low and gravelly, so he cleared his throat.  “Right.  I’ll… uh… get out of your hair” he said, repeating the phrase he’d said earlier in jest.  Bucky dropped her hand and turned away from her.

He crossed the floor to the front door in a couple of strides.  He was outside seconds later. Doing what, she didn’t know.  

She knew  _ she _ was mentally kicking her own ass into the carpet for making him look like that.  

It was like kicking… not a puppy, but a floppy, happy dog.  She’d kicked a floppy, happy doggo and made him all sad and mopey.  She’d kicked a happy doggo who had been kicked before and now he was all sad and mopey and it was going to take so much more work to get him happy again.  

She was the actual worst.    

Darcy sighed  heavily and leaned down to clear the hummus tray from the coffee table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love, and I LOVE love, so maybe leave me some love? <3


	8. hummingbird taking coffee with the ants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally an update! 
> 
> I want to thank sarastark. <3 Thank you thank you thank you. 
> 
> Also, this is a little short, but omg. This was the chapter I've been waiting to write. I've had this one planned in my head for SO LONG OMG. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: PTSD, panic attacks, also Jack Rollins' evil plots

“So I’m assuming the interview went well?” Cameron asked the second Darcy let him and Fitz into the apartment.  Cameron had a messenger bag slung over his shoulder.  Fitz was carrying a plastic-wrapped plate of what Darcy assumed were supposed to be cookies.

Darcy shrugged. “As well as can be expected when we’re not really married and pretending to be, and the interviewer is thirsty for ‘Jake’.” She rolled her eyes a little harder than she had to.  Cam and Fitz glanced at each other. Passing a  _ look _ that Darcy didn’t entirely care for.  

Bucky wasn’t actually in the room with them, he was napping on the bed. Something he’d taken up in the mid-afternoons lately. Darcy strongly suspected it was because he wasn’t sleeping well on the couch, but the stubborn ox wouldn’t budge. Or even switch up with her every few nights, as she’d suggested. It was the least they could do.  

“Thirsty for Jake…” Cam repeated slowly before dropping it like an old hat.  “Well, it didn’t show in the interview.”  

“If anything, she’s thirsty for your blog?” Fitz improvised badly, the lilt at the end of his statement giving away even  _ his _ lack of faith in what he was saying.  

Darcy made a face. “Not what thirsty means, Fitz.  But good try.”  

He shrugged and placed the plate of cookies on the table in front of them. If Darcy didn’t know better, she would venture to guess that they were store-bought, because neither Fitz nor Cameron looked like they could bake. Except they were burnt. And she was pretty sure stores would throw out cookies if they were burned this badly.

Fitz removed the plastic wrap, laying it flat beside the plate.  

They each took one, glancing around as if daring each other to take the first bite.  Darcy did, with both Cam’s and Fitz’s eyes on her.  So she couldn’t even spit it out for fear of offending whichever of the two had ‘baked’ these carbon crispies.  

Fitz took a bite and groaned. “Oh… god… Cam, these are awful.”  

Cam dropped his back on the plate. “Thought they would be.  I didn’t have the right ingredients.  But I didn’t feel like going to the store.”  

“Said every fail-baker who ever fail-baked,” Darcy muttered under her breath, dropping the rest of her uneaten cookie on the plate. It would be one thing if it was just burnt, but it didn’t even taste good besides.  

“I got the recipe from  _ your _ blog, Ms. Fruitcake…” Cam countered.  

“Then you obviously didn’t follow it…”  

“Didn’t I just say…”  

“Look dude. Those taste like charcoal. Nowhere on my blog did I ever say it was okay to turn cookies into charcoal. Please don’t make your own charcoal, store bought  _ really is  _ fine!”  

Fitz snort-laughed under his breath and Cam shook his head. “ _ Anyway _ , it looks like the interview went well, the magazine was one of their most purchased at newstands…”  

“For real?” Darcy asked, surprised. “Cool!”  

Cam nodded. “For real. Have you noticed any increased traffic to your site? I was informed by tech that you probably would.”  

“Yeah, as a matter of fact… I decided to double up on my posting this week to capitalize on it… but I kinda need the ‘hubs’ to get up and help me with a few things…” she tilted her head towards the bedroom.  

“He’s sleeping in the bed? Are you both--” Fitz started.  

“NO, oh Thor, no. Nope. No. Just… he’s just taking naps.” She shrugged. “Because he’s old, I guess. He sleeps on the sofa.”  

“Okay…” Cam said, dropping the subject. “On another note, do  _ you _ have any cookies?”

Smiling slightly, she nodded, pointing out to the kitchen. “In the yellow submarine cookie jar on the counter.”  

* * *

 

Bucky finally woke up around three, long after Cam and Fitz had gone and she’d made Cam promise not to try to make any of her recipes without having all the ingredients first.  

She was standing out in the middle of the floor, looking at the living room with her blogger goggles on. That fireplace needed some work. It was looking very 1985 and not the good part of the decade either.  

It needed an update. And quick.  

“Do we know if the chimney even works?” Bucky asked, peering up the dark orifice and frowning. “Might need to be cleaned out…”  

“Can you do that?” Darcy asked, making a face at the thought of a pile of ash falling down on her face.  

“‘Course I can, sweetheart. That’s my job, isn’t it? Gettin’ all grimey?” He reached for his jacket, pulling it on  and removing a pair of leather gloves from the pockets as he walked out to the kitchen. He opened the closet, nicking the broom from inside. “Look now, you should probably put a drop cloth down on the furniture… unless you’d rather if I moved it first?” He was now standing on the back patio, leaning on the broom and looking like her dream come true.  

She swallowed thickly. “Nah, I can… I can just push it all back…you go ahead...” She waved her hand vaguely.  “Up there.”  

Yes.  Take your beautiful buns up that ladder, Barnes. And keep them out of my eyesight for the rest of forever.  

As it turned out, no. She couldn’t ‘just push it all back’.  Even though it was on a rug, the couches were heavy as hell.  

So, she grabbed a drop cloth from the bathroom closet. It was really just a set of microfiber sheets that had been here when they moved in. Sheets that she’d deigned too yucky to EVER sleep on. So they were big and they were disposable. Practically.  

She draped them over the sofas and the area rug.  

She heard a distant call and ran out to the back door to look up. Bucky was on the room, broom in hand. “You good doll?” he repeated.  

“Yep, everything’s covered.”  

“Gotcha, get ready…”  

She laughed and went back into the living room, making sure to stand back from the fireplace just in case something fell on her.  

And when nothing happened, she waited some more. She heard some thumping. Some scratching. Some more calls from the back.  

“It’s not soot. Something else.” His voice was louder now, more discernable. Still sounded like he was wrapped up in a million blankets, though 

“It’s not wasps, is it?” she called up the chimney.    

He chuckled. “Nah.  I’d be getting stung if it was wasps.”  

Shrugging, she went back inside, plopping down in the arm chair across the room, relieved that she wasn’t going to have to clean soot off everything, completely unaware that her worst nightmare was about to come true.  

With almost no warning other than a surprised shout from Bucky and a bunch of angry tweeting, birds  _ swooped _ out of the chimney. It  _ was _ like a fucking nightmare. In fact, she was pretty sure she’d had this nightmare before. She was always the Tippi Hedren character, getting pecked to death all alone.  

She screamed. And dropped to her knees to cover her head.  

Because what else could she do?  

Later on, she’d wonder why she didn’t just run out the open door and into the yard, maybe the birds might have followed her and not swept around the room like the tornado of horrors.  

She crawled for a corner, screeching the entire time.  

She didn’t hear anything but their confused squawking for what felt like the longest minute in her entire life. There was no way it was just sixty seconds, no matter what Bucky said afterwards.  

It felt like an eternity.  

And then she felt his arms around her. Bucky’s. 

She felt his arms encircle her as he leaned closer, putting himself between the birds and her.  

“Shh, shhhh…” he shushed her, wrapping her tightly up into a hug. “Doll… it’s okay, it’s okay…”  She could have sworn she felt his lips at her temple as he hoisted her up off the floor and into his lap. “They’re gone. I got them out. They’re gone.”  

She was gasping for breath, suddenly realizing that she was sobbing. Her body wracked with fear and emotion as she tried and failed to catch her breath.  

He quickly tightened his hold, pulling her close and instructing her to breath with him.  

She could feel his chest moving behind her. A constant. Something stable. A foothold.  

Slowly, Darcy matched her breathing to his, letting out shaky sighs as her heart rate regulated and her vision stopped blurring so much.  

“Oh my god,” she murmured, her entire body shuddering. “Oh my god, I am so sorry…”  

“It’s okay,” he assured her. “Happens to the best of us…”  

“Oh god… you must think I’m such a wuss. Fucking birds…”  

She could feel him shaking his head. “Nope. Not a wuss.”  

Darcy snorted derisively.  

“Hey…” he murmured.  “Hey, listen up, doll.  Whether you believe it or not, you lived through two alien invasions.  And not just on the couch at home either, you lived  _ through _ them.”  

“So, you read my file.”  

“Yeah? You read mine,” he countered pointedly.  “I know all about Puente Antiguo.  And London. And neither of them looked like a picnic, lemme tell ya.”  

She laughed, shaking her head. “They weren’t.” Rolling to the side, she started to rise, so Bucky loosened his grip on her. She pushed up to stand and quickly went to close the back door.  “Sorry about that…”  

“You don’t have to apologize, Darcy,” he replied, leaning back against the wall. “Honestly, I’m glad it was something I could help with. You have no idea how scared I was, coming down that ladder…”  

She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, looking down at the floor for a moment. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”  

He shook his head. “I’m fine.  Are you okay?”  

She nodded. “Yep. I’m fine.”  

* * *

 

Rollins exhaled heavily as the door slammed shut in his face.  

Lauren had told him to get out.  After all he’d done to get here, that bitch had told him to get out.  “ _ Before Grayson gets home.”  _

She banged her hand on the door from the other side of it, jarring him from his reverie.  “Go, Jack. GO. I’m giving you ten minutes before I call the cops.”  

“Goddammit…” he muttered, jamming the magazine he had in his hand into his back pocket, jogging down the front steps and out to the sidewalk. He’d come on foot. What kind of a headstart was ten minutes?  

Everything had been fine before all of this Hydra bullshit came out. Now his wife hated him, was keeping him from his son… and it was all because of Steve Fucking Rogers..  

He turned to the left and took off, running as fast as his SHIELD training could allow.

This  _ wasn’t _ fucking over. No sir.  

Just because Steve and his friends were all sitting pretty in their ivory towers in New York, didn’t mean that Jack Rollins was going to take this bullshit lying down.  

He’d been doing what he was ordered to do. He’d been a part of Rumlow’s Strike Team, but he was just following orders. Doing what he was told. Wasn’t that a valued trait in a soldier? In an agent?

Jack quickly took a hard right, and quickly hopped on a city bus. He nodded to the bus driver as he went immediately to the back corner.  

Sitting down, he remembered the stupid magazine he’d nicked from Lauren’s mailbox, still rolled up in his back pocket. He pulled it out, and opened it, trying to calm his nerves so he didn’t look like an angry drunk in the back of the bus.  

_ Situation _ . Some kind of home interior bullshit that Lauren had always liked reading.  

He groused inwardly as he turned the pages, flipping through until something caught his eye.  

Or  _ someone _ .

Right there. In the middle spread. He could SWEAR it was that fucker. He looked  _ just _ like him.  Save for the beard and the man bun. And the decided lack of a metal arm.  

Smear some grease paint on his eyes and that was Barnes. The Asset. Winter fucking soldier.  

Jack squinted, more and more convinced that was  _ exactly _ who it was.  

“Mother fucker,” he murmured, glancing over the article. Nothing about Barnes at all. Obviously, that wasn’t the name he was giving. Rollins wondered if the little woman knew she was laying down beside a cold blooded killer every night.  

Probably. She might even be an agent herself.  

Yeah, he was probably in some kind of witness protection. Hiding in plain sight, this had Coulson written all over it.  

Jack read through the article.  Barnes had shacked himself up with a  pretty little thing, living large upstate.  

Nope, that wouldn’t do.  

Jack had no idea how to get to Rogers.  

But he had a feeling if he attacked his little commando buddy and commando buddy’s wife.  Well.  

That might scare old Steve out of the bushes.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love sugar. Maybe leave me some? <3


	9. please, i know that we're different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SO SORRY GUYS. 
> 
> I don't even have a good excuse other than I haven't been in a fandom mindset lately. <3 
> 
> But I hope this makes up for it. This slow burn is finally starting to catch fire. ;) 
> 
> Enjoy! <3

Bucky shifted on the sofa, a cramp in his lower back twinging as he attempted to rearrange the pillows behind him. Normally, he’d just get up and scoot cushions around to his heart’s content, except, he couldn’t really do that this time.

Not with Darcy snuggled up to his side and the soft sweet warmth of her breath ghosting over his shoulder as she dozed. His cybernetic arm was safely draped across the back of the couch, his flesh and bone one on the armrest, fingers tapping nervously against the overstuffed upholstery.

It had all started out innocently enough. They’d been watching TV. A movie, specifically. Something she liked, something drippy and romantic. Something to calm her nerves after the birdpocalypse that afternoon.

Birdpocalypse was her term, not his. And it wasn’t even the only one she’d used. It was just his favorite. Birdnado also had come up. Birdicane wasn’t as good, but still got a few chuckles out of him.

Truth be told, he’d probably laugh at anything she said. She always got this self-assured, smug look on her face when she said something funny enough to elicit a laugh from him.

It wasn’t like he was some kind of a stone wall or something. He laughed at things. In fact, he teased her nonstop. Made _her_ laugh too.

But for reasons that felt obvious, she really liked making him laugh. And that made him all the more willing to find cause to laugh in her presence.

A smile slowly spread across his lips as he shifted in his seat once more, cybernetic fingers gripping the fabric on the back of the couch as she slept on his shoulder.

His back twinged again, likely a dual side-effect of sleeping on this godforsaken hellbeast of a sofa every night _and_ the fact that he had to pee.

He probably should wake her. He didn’t want her to shrink away from him again. Not like she had when he’d kissed her hand following the interview with that magazine. It had taken a couple of days of teasing and jabs and talking to her without getting a response to fix the holes in the dam.

God only knew how long it would take if she found out she’d been snoozing on his shoulder while he pretended to watch the romcom she’d started.

But still, Bucky didn’t dare get up. He just sat there, discomfort be damned… all because Darcy was asleep on his shoulder. And regardless of anything else, he didn’t want her to move.

He was okay now with admitting that. It was a long time coming, but even he wasn’t so willfully blind as to not notice the feelings he’d caught.

Pesky little things, but he wouldn’t trade them for anything.

Of course, he wasn’t one-hundred percent on Darcy’s feelings.

Every other time he’d gotten close, she’d hightailed it from the room. So either, his feelings weren’t reciprocated…

Or they _were_ and she was scared.

In either case, he should probably wake her up.

Bucky rolled his shoulders, glancing down at the sleeping woman cuddling up to him.  He repeated the action. “Darcy…” he murmured. “Darce?”

“It’s Valerie…” she sing-songed softly, her voice sounding much too alert for someone who had just been asleep. It appeared that he’d been duped. And that wasn’t an easy thing to accomplish.

“How long have you been awake?” he asked.

“I haven’t been asleep recently. Not that I know of… you keep moving around, it’s hard to relax when you’re over there doing body rolls and high kicks.”

“There are no high kicks happening,” he retorted. The body rolls, he’d admit to.

“Yeah?  Well get comfortable and be still…” she mumbled, her lips moving against him as she snuggled up under his arm, her hand moving over his belly.

The touch made him shiver and he leaned forward slightly, rearranging the pillows and getting as comfortable as he could on that sofa. “Full disclosure, I’m gonna have to run to the restroom…”

She sighed, rolling to the side to allow him to leave. “Fine, but be back soon.”

His head was spinning as he got up and walked back through the bedroom and into the bathroom, he closed the door firmly and did his business.

So she was… she was _okay_ with the close proximity?  Was it because of the birds or something else?

He wasn’t sure if he could ask her.  Or if he even _should_. Was this one of those ‘looking a gift horse in the mouth’ situations? He wished Steve was here to give him advice. He’d probably roll his eyes at him.

_“Really, Buck? This is what you’re worried about? You forget how to talk to a dame or something?”_

Maybe he had. Maybe that was one of the things Hydra succeeded in truly washing from his brain.

He washed his hands, drying them on a hand towel before leaving the bathroom and making his way back out to the living room.

Imaginary Steve was right. He should just talk to her.

Darcy was still lounging on the sofa, and she resumed her previous position once he’d sat back down. The movie was over, so she’d started another.

He slid back down onto the sofa, draping his arm over the back as Darcy scooted close, wrapping hers around his waist and snuggling up close.

The opening credits of the move were running, but he was hard-pressed to remember the name of it.  All he could think about was the way her hair smelled. Coconut.

Bucky swallowed and drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch.

“You’re okay with this, Darcy?” he asked, refusing to use the fake name, even though they were supposed to use them at all times.  They flirted so much as fake husband and wife, he needed Darcy to know he was asking her. Not Valerie.

“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here,” she replied, reaching up to still his hand. The one tapping out an S.O.S on the arm of the couch. She tugged the hand down into his lap and laced their fingers. “And it’s _Valerie_ , Jakey.”

“I know… but my message wasn’t for her.”

“Well, both of us are very okay with this,” she countered. “Just… assume we both always are.”

He sniffed out a laugh.  “My bad, doll.”

She hummed and stroked the back of his hand, which only served to confuse him all the more.

“I meant…” he lowered his voice even more, the sound making her stiffen in his arms as she sat up to look at him. “I meant… PDA kind of made you run before, what’s--”

“Shhh, babe. I can’t hear the movie. Am I gonna need to come over there and keep you quiet?” she asked, smirking slightly before leaning over to press her lips to his.

His heart stopped for a moment, before it started hammering loudly in his chest.

She tasted like lemons and iced tea. Cool and refreshing and hot all at once.

He made a sound in the back of his throat and she froze for a second, pulling back to look at him.  She searched his eyes, finding something there. Something she liked.

Because before he knew it, she was climbing into his lap.  Not straddling him or anything, but she was there in his lap, her arms around his neck as she kissed the hell out of him.

He parted his lips, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. He felt her moan into his mouth.  He swallowed the sound, claiming it as his own while her tongue played around his lips before delving between them.

Bucky wasn’t sure what he should be doing with his hands, his fingers flexed and released a few times before he placed them on her waist. That was apparently the right thing to do, because she melted against him.

Her lips moved against his, popping slightly when she released him. She shifted in his lap, moving closer somehow as she gripped the collar of his shirt, holding him close as she kissed him once more. Her teeth nipped at his bottom lip and apparently that was what did it for him, because he was moving now… pressing her back against the throw pillows and rolling slightly.  His knee pressed between hers, a low groan echoing in the room when she dragged her teeth along the edge of his lip.

“Darcy…” he whispered.  And for once she didn’t correct him.

“Bucky…” she whispered, just as softly. He dipped down and captured her lips again, ensuring that every sound she made was his and his alone.

* * *

 

He woke up the next morning with a crick in his neck. One that ground painfully when he rolled his head to the side.

Bucky didn’t care though.  Didn’t care whether it ground or popped.  Both of which happened the more he rolled it.

He didn’t care because Darcy was still there. Her head on his chest. Hair all tangled around his fingers and draped over his face.  She was all around him.

He ran his tongue over his lips and smiled at the ache. It had been a long ass time since the last time Bucky’d kissed someone so much his lips were sore the next day. He missed it.

“Morning…” she murmured upon waking.

“Morning,” he replied, the smile on his face travelling to his voice. “Valerie.”

“Jake,” she countered, smiling as she got her hair under control and tucked over her shoulder while she lay there in his arms on the tiny sofa.  “My back fucking hurts.”

“Mine too…” he agreed.  But neither of them moved.  He wasn’t sure if he should tell her, but it was the best sleep he’d ever gotten at this place. It felt right to curl up beside her.

She pushed up to a sitting position and stretched.  “I slept like a rock, though…” she said, turning to look at him for a long moment, like she was reading his thoughts.  “Like a tired rock that hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in like… how long have we been here?”

He grinned, pushing up beside her, he let his fingers drag up her arm from her elbow. “I can’t think right now, but me too, doll.”

She inhaled and stretched again, wincing as something creaked. She pushed up to a standing position and walked out towards the kitchen, straightening her rumpled clothing in the process.

He could either sit here like a dunce or follow her.

He chose follow.  He padded out to the kitchen, glancing down and grimacing at his dirty socks.  He was almost embarrassed, but if he took them off, he’d have cold feet, so there wasn’t much of a choice in the matter.

“Doll?” he ventured, watching as she measured coffee into the grinder.

“Hmm?”

“If that was a one-time thing… like you needed comfort after yesterday or whatever…” he trailed off, waiting until she turned to look at him. “You know… I understand. I don’t expect anything from you, is all I’m sayin’.”

“You think I made out with you on the couch for like an hour last night because I was freaked out by birds?” she asked, chuckling as she pulled down two mugs from the cupboard.

“I dunno… I mean… it felt kind of all of a sudden? I guess?” he said, wishing like hell he’d just shut his damn mouth already. “I mean, you kind of got upset when I kissed your hand that one time… and--”

“I got freaked out because you’re hot as hell and I don’t want to get attached to someone who’s not gonna stick around after this is over…” she said, a catch in her voice as she walked to the fridge.  “I get attached hard when I get attached. I’m like a damn love barnacle.”

He smiled at the image.  A love barnacle.

“Okay… ever occur to you that you might get attached to another love barnacle? Or a rock?  I’m not sure how to complete the analogy... ”

She pulled out the milk and walked back to the coffee mugs, watching the coffee as it dripped.  “You’re a love barnacle too?”

“Yeah…” he said softly, approaching the counter.  “Didn’t know that’s what it was called, but… yeah.”

“And this isn’t just to quell your loneliness or because of proximity or whatever?”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t why I picked you for this mission either, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

She laughed softly, winking and pointing at him like that was exactly what she was going to ask him.

“What is it then, Buck?” she asked softly, looking up into his eyes with her baby blues and making him wish he had something to give her. He’d give her anything, she knew that, right?  “What’s this thing?”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching for her and skimming lightly over her forearm.  “Not sure what you call it, but it’s a thing. It’s definitely a thing.”

She swallowed thickly.  “Is it?”

“Looks that way…” He was halfway to a smile, but she’d thrown her arms around his neck, pressing her lips fiercely to his and taking his breath away for the third time in twenty-four hours.

“If this is a thing, then it’s a thing…” she said, nodding.

“It’s a thing,” he repeated.

“Since it’s a thing…” she continued.  “We should probably just sleep in the bed tonight… you know?  It’s not going to eat us alive or anything… and it’s there. It’s a roomy queen.  If you don’t want cuddles, that is.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards.  He definitely wanted cuddles.

He nodded.  “Yeah, okay. Let’s try that bed out tonight. And I definitely want cuddles, so get ready for that, _Larson_.” He felt proud of himself for remembering their covers. He’d wanted to say ‘Lewis’ so bad.

“And no more stiff backs,” she said, reaching out to boop his nose.  “ _Larson_.”

“No more stiff backs,” he echoed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me some sugar? <3

**Author's Note:**

> Give me a holler on [tumblr](http://dresupi.tumblr.com/), if you do that kind of thing.


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